When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest
by Anath Tsurugi
Summary: Kallus liked to tell himself he'd long since ceased to think about the words inked onto his forearm in deep violet. But the truth was he knew them perfectly. He could picture every hard line and soft curl of each beautiful letter, as if some vindictive god had written the words out with a delicate hand, but with angry strokes, the words both a blessing and a curse. (Soulmate AU)
1. If Our Love is Tragedy

(A/N) I am sooo incredibly sorry for the lateness of this story. I know several of you have been waiting on this one, having seen Bro-rifles' absolutely amazing art for it. And if you haven't seen that yet, you should definitely go check it out, as it is beautiful beyond imagining. (Thanks again, Bro-rifles! You're an amazing artist!) And someday I'll figure out how to actually embed art in a story.

brorifles. tumblr post /179067050168 /art-for-anaths-fic-when-you-pry-it-from-my-cold

So I wrote this piece for the Star Wars Rebels Minibang. All that was required of me was to write a story of 5,000 words. As you can see, it's a- great deal longer than that. _ I've written more of a novel here. But that tends to happen with me. I can't seem to write a short story to save my life. (Somebody send help!) Either way, I certainly hope you enjoy my humble offering. For all I adore them, this is my first stab at writing a soulmate AU. Hopefully I didn't do too bad. Heheh. Enjoy!

 **When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest**

 _Chapter 1: If Our Love is Tragedy_

"Alex!"

He knew he ought to answer. Mama always got upset when she couldn't find him. But if he answered her, it would mean it was bedtime. He didn't want it to be bedtime yet.

He would answer eventually. He _had_ to be in bed before Mama went to work. That was the rule. But he was going to stretch it for as long as he could tonight.

"Bet _you_ don't hafta go to bed early," he whispered conspiratorially to the words on his forearm.

The soulmark shimmered faintly in the darkness, its vivid purple gleam dimly lighting up the little boy's face. At three and a half standard years, he couldn't yet read all the words, but Mama had told him what it said.

'Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!'

He'd asked all the questions he possibly could about the mark, and his mother had answered them as best she could. What was Lasan? A planet in the Outer Rim. What was the Honor Guard? An order of noble warriors who protected the royal family of Lasan. What was a bo-rifle? The traditional weapon of the Honor Guard, a weapon that was both rifle and bo-staff. The words didn't really tell him much about the being who was fated to be his partner. More they told him about himself – that he would one day own a bo-rifle...and that this fated partner would somehow be unhappy about that.

"Alex! Answer Mama, sweetheart," Mama's voice called out to him again, starting to sound worried. Well, he didn't want to go to bed, but even less did he want to make his mother worry.

"Here I am, Mama," he called softly as he climbed out of the storage cylinder he'd been hiding in. Mama had reached the end of the corridor by the time he'd called to her and when she turned back to the sound of his voice, it was with a relieved smile.

"Oh, you," she scolded mildly as she came to scoop him up in her arms, nuzzling his nose with her own. Alex giggled as her blonde curls fell in a curtain around his face. "My naughty little meiloorun. What were you doing?"

"I was talking to them," he answered, holding out his arm to let her know who he meant.

"Oh," she started with a small laugh. "I'm not sure it works like that, mei-mei."

"Why not? We're...connected...aren't we?" he asked, stumbling over the longer word.

"Of course you are, but your connection hasn't properly formed yet. You have to _meet_ first. You can't be impatient for these things," she explained as she carried him through the House.

"How do you _know_ it doesn't work like that?" Alex pressed.

"Well, I've never _heard_ of anything like that. And I never spoke to Kass, so-"

"Did you _try?_ " he interrupted her.

His mother stopped short at the question, seemingly amazed that such an obvious thought had never occurred to her. Smiling, she shook her head as she continued on. "Well...no. I suppose I didn't."

"I'm gonna keep tryin'," he said solemnly, though his eyes still glinted with mirth as he looked up at his mother. "Maybe they can hear me. Maybe I can make 'em feel better if they're sad. Maybe I can make 'em understand I'm not bad."

It was something that had always concerned him – the angry tone of the words on his skin. He felt certain it was just going to be some kind of misunderstanding, but it still frightened him sometimes – his soulmate's anger.

"If you think it will help, there's nothing saying you can't try. I'm sure they'll be happy you've been so concerned for them. Kass was always talking about how concerned she was for me when she was young."

"Mama? he started to ask after several silent moments, giving voice to something he'd long wondered, but had never found the courage to ask. "Where was _your_ soulmark?"

Once again, his mother came to a stop, a distant look shining in her eyes as her mind drifted away from the current moment. He knew she'd had a soulmark before he was born, but he'd never asked her about it because she always looked so sad whenever the topic came up. He didn't want to make her sad. He _hated_ making her sad.

"My right calf," she finally whispered, cuddling him a little bit closer against her chest. "Just below the back of my knee. The letters were...ruby and violet...just like her eyes."

"What did they say?" Alex whispered back, breathlessly awaiting the answer.

"Let me be ta'en. Let me be put to death," she returned, eyes smiling but sad. "I am content, so thou wilt have it so."

"What- what does that mean?" he asked, blinking up at her in confusion.

Blinking several times herself, his mother finally seemed to return to the present, her smile growing warm again. "They're lines from a play. She called out to me...and I answered," she said simply as she coaxed herself back into motion, carrying him into the small back room that was his. When she set him on his feet, he scrambled around to change for bed, asking questions all the while.

"Why did she call you? Why those words?" he asked. He'd heard stories of Kassinian before – fierce, funny, fiery Kass – but he'd never heard the story of how she and Mama had first met...or of how Mama's mark had faded from her pale skin. Rather than fall for it, though, his mama smirked as she looked down at him.

"That, mei-mei, is a story for when you're older. It's not for young ears," she reprimanded him as she tucked him into bed, but when she leaned down to kiss him goodnight, he stopped her.

"Mama...what if _my_ mark goes away?"

Once again, his mother's expression grew sad and guarded. Shaking her head, she reached up a hand to stroke his fair hair from his eyes. "I can't tell you it won't happen, Alex. I know only too well that it does. I _hope_ you never have to experience that pain, but... _if_ that time comes...you should do your best to honor the bond that might've been."

"Honor?" he asked her, not sure what she meant.

"Yes. Live a life you feel would have made your partner happy. That's what it means to honor the bond."

"Amara!" the sharp voice of Mistress Elaris lanced into the tiny room, shattering the quiet moment. "You have a client waiting! You _know_ the rules."

"Uh-oh. Looks like Mama's late," his mother said, smiling tiredly before leaning down once more to drop a kiss on his forehead. "Sleep tight, Alex...my mei-mei."

"Nighty night, Mama," he whispered as she tucked the blankets back over him.

" _Amara!_ "

"I'm _coming!_ " Amara Kallus snapped over her shoulder, but then she offered her son one last loving look before drifting slowly out of the room. "I love you, baby."

"Love you, too," he said before slipping completely under the blankets, looking down to the comforting shimmer of words on his left arm.

"I'm not gonna lose you," he vowed solemnly to his unknown partner, gently kissing the mark. "I'm not gonna lose my partner the way my mama did. I'll show you. I'll show you that I'm worthy."

XxX

"Zeb'aki, come down from there!"

Ears pricking up at the sound of the familiar voice, seven-year-old Garazeb Orrelios glanced down through the tree branches to see the grinning face of his older sister, Ashvyr, looking up at him.

"Ash!" he shouted gleefully, immediately releasing his grip on his perch and letting himself tumble gracelessly from the tree, down into the waiting arms of his big sister, who laughed as she spun him in circles.

"Ah, _ni kyra, ni kyra,_ " the twenty-five-year-old half-sang, hugging him tightly against her chest. "You're getting too big. I insist you stop growing right this second."

"What? Afraid I'll get bigger'n you?" he teased as he began to climb all over her.

"Oh, I _know_ you will. That's why you've got to leave off immediately."

"All right," he agreed, taking a moment to playfully chew on her ear. "If you promise not to leave for six months, I'll stop growing. Deal?"

Ash sighed as she peeled him easily from her back, holding him out in her arms like the little ball of fluff and mischief he was. "No deal, unfortunately. The Kashyyyk delegation is needed more than ever these days."

"Guess they could let you go soon enough to get home a week early, though," he pointed out, briefly sticking his tongue out at her. "What about Gav? Does she know you're back?"

"She'll be in tonight."

"But...Mum and Dad-"

"They know," she interrupted with a smile. "They're going to try to get back before we have to leave again."

"We?"

Ash nodded back toward the house and Zeb looked up just in time to see their grandmother emerging onto the balcony with Chaladdik at her side – Ash's Wookiee partner.

The one who had brought her color.

"Nobody told me Chala was comin'!" Zeb cheered as he wriggled out of his sister's grasp, quickly scampering over to the Wookiee and clambering up his tall frame like a tree. The warrior gave the typical chuffed sound of a Wookiee's laugh and started to go on about disrespectful kits who were too big for their tree branches.

Chala play-wrestled with the young Lasat while Ash and Gran got the evening meal set up on the family balcony, and by the time Ash's twin, Zalgavin, arrived for the meal, the Wookiee had suitably worn the boy out.

Zeb didn't pay much attention to what he ate during dinner. He thought he remembered the taste of gantha pig, but by the time the savory scents and tastes of the main meal had been replaced by the sweeter scent of jogan tea, the little Lasat was tired enough to crawl into his sister's lap and cuddle up without shame.

"Ash?" he asked when Gran, Chala, and Gav fell into the topic of the elder twin's latest performance piece. "Can you tell me about green again?"

Ash laughed quietly as she stroked the fur behind his ears, earning herself a pleased purr. No matter how many times she insisted she couldn't explain, he would always ask.

"Green is like racing through the trees with the leaves dancing all around. It's like walking out in the rain when the world smells new. It's rolling around in the pyr patches with the piglets. Green is the color of your eyes," she said, tapping him right between those eyes. "Green is...green is like breathing," she finally settled on, drawing in a deep, contented sigh of her own.

"And blue? Tell me about blue," he pressed eagerly.

"Blue is wide and big and deep. It's Mirov Lake. It's the petals on a korreh rose when it first blooms. Blue is diving into the ocean and plunging so deep you think you might not have enough air to get back up again. Blue is when you feel the rain in your fur. It's waking up just before the sun does and listening to the light doves sing. Blue is a drink of water."

"Yellow! Do yellow next," he pleaded, tired as he was.

"Yellow is a scoop of Gran's honey cream. It's the doleroff puffs when they drift free in summer, the flash beneath a light dove's wings. It's the sun just before it comes over the horizon and you can't look anymore. It's the moment just before everything's too bright. It's the color of Gav's favorite scarf, even if she doesn't know it," she said, sticking her tongue out at her older twin, receiving a similar gesture right back from the branch dancer. "It's the color of my bo-rifle when it's in staff mode."

"Red! What's red like?" the young Lasat continued on.

"Red is fire," she answered immediately. "It's the line of pain in your fur when you cut yourself on a branch. It's the taste in your mouth when you bite your tongue. Red is hot, burning. It's the dunes of the Or'kyrreh Desert. It's the drop at the heart of a kiru star in full bloom. Red is a beating heart."

"What about purple?" he asked. He asked even though he knew what her answer would be. He always wanted to hear her say it.

"Purple is Lasat," she answered with a grin. "It's the color of every hair on your body, in all its different shades. It's the banner of the royal family, the color of the arrdan blossoms the princess grows in the palace gardens. It's the mists in the depths of the Lirbog Valley. It is far. It is old, and it is strong, and it is fragile. It is sweet and bitter, the skin of a ripe kiru fruit and the juice of it that flows down your chin when you bite into it," she said, chucking him under the chin. Zeb yawned widely as he cuddled up close against his beloved older sister.

"I wanna see them," he said, head drooping in exhaustion. "I wanna see _all_ the colors."

"You will, _ni Zeb'aki_. One day you will," she crooned, kissing the top of his head. "I have no doubt. You have so much love in your heart. Somewhere out in the galaxy is a being who's made for it – someone who will change your world and make you see everything through different eyes."

"I _still_ have no idea what you're talking about," their gran snipped. "I've never seen the world any differently than the way I did as a kit and I've always been perfectly happy."

While the other three had a laugh over the old matriarch's words, Zeb actually caught himself sniffling as he clung a bit tighter to Ash. "I don't- I don't wanna be like that. You and Chala are so happy...and Mum and Dad...all the time..."

"Well...not _all_ the time, _ni kyra_. It's more complicated than that. I can explain love to you no better than I can explain color. But you shouldn't fear. I have a feeling...a feeling it will happen for you someday. You only need to be patient."

"But I don't wanna _be_ patient," he groused, yawning as he fought to keep his eyes open.

Ash laughed quietly as she stroked his back, coaxing him ever closer to slumber. "The change will come no sooner for the asking, baby brother. It will happen for you when you are ready. There's no point in forcing it. Just be the best you that you can be and you'll see what the galaxy has in store for you."

"Best...me?" he asked around another long yawn. "What'sat...even mean?"

"Well...that's up to you, isn't it," she teased, nipping lightly at his ear just before he finally drifted off to sleep. "Good night, _ni kyra._ "

XxX

His mother speaking the words of his soulmark were the last time for many years that Alexsandr Kallus heard those words spoken aloud. Years and years came and went after he was taken from her...or she gave him up. It was all a bit hazy in his early memory. A different home and a different school and a different name and even an entirely different galactic government moved through his life in those years.

The Empire was not the sort to encourage leaning on a soul bond. It was Jedi mysticism, nonsense that the illusionists could use to try and prove that they were somehow better than the lesser folk that clung to soul bonds. Why did _anyone_ need to cling to something they'd had no choice in? The Empire was about peace and freedom after all. Better to cast off the old ways, ways that had brought chaos and conflict. And on days when he was feeling strong, Kallus almost managed to make himself believe that. Why should he need to cling to a fate that had been written out for him before he was even born? If he was going to tell the rest of the galaxy to let go of the past, he would have to do so himself.

Even so, he couldn't always quash the memory of his mother's distant smile whenever she talked about the woman she'd loved. Couldn't fully suppress his own memory of comfort at the sight of the faintly shimmering purple letters. He knew he shouldn't have let the words influence him, but he'd studied staff combat extensively in the hope of one day being worthy of the weapon that would some day come into his possession. He'd studied as much of the Lasat warrior culture as was available to him, in spite of the growing mistrust of alien cultures, and he knew it had in some way shaped his own sense of honorable conduct in battle. Even though he _tried_ not to think of it, he still sometimes wondered if the person who would speak his words was a Lasat or just someone as informed about the culture as he'd become.

It wasn't supposed to matter anymore. It really wasn't. He was supposed to forget about it, but he could never fully dismiss the tiny voice in his head and in his heart that incredulously demanded _why_ he would want to forget about his own _soulmate._ And ultimately, the next time he heard his words spoken aloud, they were in his _own_ voice.

"Only...only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle," he found himself groaning as he struggled to rise to his knees, spitting out a mouthful of blood as he stared down the barrel of a weapon he was only too familiar with.

The mercenary wielding the rifle raised a curious eyebrow at him as he let the weapon prime, but it ultimately remained unfired. The Lasat leered at him as he slowly lowered the bo-rifle.

"It's of interest to me that an _Imperial_ knows even that much about the Lasat. How do you _know_ I'm not Honor Guard?" the Lasat asked him as he came closer.

"A guardsman- would never do what you have done," he insisted, every moment he remained even partially upright a small victory when all he wanted to do was collapse from the pain. "He wouldn't take his opponents from behind with incendiaries, nor pick off the survivors when they were too injured to fight back," he said, struggling to keep his focus on his enemy and not on the dead littering the forest floor all around them – the last of his unit... _gone!_...he'd _failed_ them. Shaking his head, he shut out the accusing voice in his heart, glaring up at his would-be killer. "If you are, or ever were, a guardsman, then you _shame_ the Honor Guard!"

The Lasat didn't even flinch at his vitriol. When he came to stand before him, he wrapped a large, four-fingered hand around his defenseless throat and lifted him up in the air. Kallus hardly even had the strength to struggle as his oxygen was cut off.

"You make much of the honor of a guardsman, _human_. You don't know me," he said, sneering as he slammed the weakened Imperial against a half-burnt tree. "So what is it that makes a human, and an Imperial one at that, so obsessed with the Honor Guard? How would you even know what a bo-rifle was unless you...oh...wait. I think I understand."

 _No...please, no._

The mercenary leaned into him with an unpleasant leer, whispering in his ear, "Where is it?"

"Where's- what?" Kallus choked out when the Lasat allowed him enough breath to answer.

"No games, Imperial _dog_. You humans have your fate written upon your skin. Tell me where your _soulmark_ is," he demanded, body pressed so uncomfortably close against Kallus' he could feel the excited _shiver_ that ran through him.

"That- that's private," Kallus bit back, glaring up at the mercenary. "It's not for your eyes."

"Your life is literally in my hands, scum. Nothing about you is private to me. Now," he snarled in a strangely quiet voice as he raked the claws of his free hand across the agent's chest, tearing through the fabric of his uniform and into the skin below, "tell me where that kriffing mark is."

Kallus cried out in pain when the claws sliced through his skin, scattering droplets of blood all down his front. Much though it hurt, he was not going to give this _creature_ anything. He would find it eventually if he looked hard enough, granted, but that was _far_ from the point.

"My mark is my own, Lasat. I will _die_ first," he hissed defiantly up at his enemy.

"That shouldn't be too hard. You humans _break_ so easily, after all," the Lasat sneered before ripping through the already tattered fabric and tearing the uniform open, baring his chest to the night air. The mercenary gave an appreciative _purr_ as he ran his fingers delicately over the undamaged skin of his stomach. "Guess they train 'em all right in the Empire. I can think of a few good uses for those muscles."

"Stop it!" he snarled, but even to his own ears, the command had an edge of desperation to it – of _pleading_.

"You _know_ how to make it stop. Just tell me where the mark is," the Lasat taunted him, sneer growing more feral as he hooked his claws into the right shoulder seam of his jacket.

"No."

"Then we continue," the mercenary said, tone entirely too gleeful as he tore into the sleeve, shredding the fabric before ripping it away completely, leaving the agent's arm bare and bleeding. "Hmm, still nothing. I wonder, is our little Imperial's mark in a more... _intimate_ place," he suggested, drawing a single claw along Kallus' hip, just above his belt.

"Don't- don't do this," Kallus actually found himself pleading. He was only a little ashamed to admit that he really was afraid now. If this _beast_ was going to kill him, why couldn't he just get it over with? Why this show?

At his words, the Lasat gave an angry growl, claws digging into his hip and gouging four ugly red lines into the skin. He waited for Kallus to stop screaming before he continued.

"How many beings have begged for mercy at the feet of _your Empire_ , and you destroyed them anyway? You'll see no mercy from _me,_ dog!" he snarled, digging his claws in below the belt this time and dragging them all the way down the agent's thigh. Then he pushed aside the ribbons of destroyed fabric, reaching inside the pant leg to feel along the skin of his leg, searching for the telltale texture of the mark. But he didn't remove his hand when he found nothing.

He gave several possessive strokes along Kallus' inner thigh, smearing the blood from his injuries along the pale skin. Leaning in close to him once more, he whispered in the agent's ear, "Y'know, humans don't usually do it for me. Just nothing of any substance there. Gotta say, though, there's just _something about_ one so defiant, still trying to be brave even though he's terrified, and you _are_ terrified. I can _smell_ that on you," he said, inhaling deeply from the pulse point in Kallus' neck. "Smells nice."

"You... _monster_ ," Kallus snarled weakly, mind not wholly able to process what was happening.

The Lasat's stilted laugh ghosted against the skin of his neck in surprisingly sharp bursts. "Trust me, human, to someone else, _you_ are the monster. If I am a monster, it's because the Empire has made me one," he said, those dangerous fingers brushing just between the agent's legs.

It took every remaining ounce of Kallus' control not to glance toward his left forearm, as he tended to do in times of worry, fear, or stress. Even though he wasn't supposed to cleave to it, the mark still gave him a sense of comfort in dark times. But if he gave it away now, there was no point to any of this. So instead of giving in to despair or panic, he used his adversary's preoccupation to his own advantage.

Knowing he wouldn't get another chance to catch the mercenary off guard, he put all of his strength into a last rush forward, pushing away from the tree and driving his uninjured shoulder into the Lasat's chest. He attempted to duck free when the Lasat howled in pain, but he wasn't quick enough. The injuries he'd already sustained slowed him down, giving his opponent the chance to take hold of him again.

Roaring in rage, the mercenary seized his uninjured arm and twisted it painfully behind his back. Kallus heard more than felt something snap out of place as he was forced face-first back against the tree.

"Ooh, you're gonna pay for that one, you are. If you thought...oh, wait. What's this here?"

 _No!_

He couldn't see what the Lasat was doing, but he could feel his grip on his forearm from where he held him immobilized. The sleeve must have torn at some point during the scuffle, because he could hear his enemy ripping the fabric further, revealing the faintly shimmering lines of his soulmark. When the mercenary leaned in close to examine the words, Kallus could once again feel that heavy, unsettling breath against his skin, violating the most sacred part of his body.

"How precious," the Lasat mocked as he pressed his body back against Kallus', pinning him fully to the tree. " _Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle_. Had you thought your lover might be a Lasat?"

"Kill me...kill me...just kill me." Kallus was pleading now. If this beast was going to follow his threats through to their inevitable conclusion...

"You're not getting off that easy, dog. Let me crush your hopes now and say that no self-respecting Lasat would ever look twice at an Imperial. The only thing you shall receive from a Lasat is _pain_ ," the mercenary hissed in his ear before pulling back, taking a moment to savor the agent's pain before raking his claws directly through the soulmark.

On the level of logic, Kallus knew it wasn't possible for this fresh wound to hurt _more_ than the others that had come before it, but something inside of him still crumbled in unbearable agony as the Lasat's sharp claws slashed through his skin, leaving his precious soulmark to bleed. He never would've recognized the scream that was torn from his throat as anything human, just some pathetic creature that needed to be put out of its misery. He would suffer worse injuries in the years to come, but in that moment it felt to him as if his very soul were bleeding. The threads of agony emanated outward from the beloved lines of the mark, reverberating throughout his entire being in a hideous feedback loop of pain. The Lasat actually waited for his screams to die down before continuing.

"You know," he started in close at Kallus' ear again, deeply inhaling the scent of him, "if you still want a Lasat for your lover, I can always oblige you. Let's see if this dear mate of yours still wants you after _I'm_ done with you."

"Do whatever you want," Kallus hissed in defiance, undone by the harm inflicted on the heart of him. "I promise you, you can defile me no worse than you already have."

"We'll see about that," the Lasat breathed in his ear, blood-tipped fingers dropping slowly to his hip, the fur on them disconcertingly soft as they traced his skin.

His mind shut down after that, either unable or unwilling to absorb what was happening. It was some combination of the physical and mental trauma he'd already suffered, was what they told him later. They also told him that reinforcements had arrived in time to prevent anything... _unseemly_ from happening, but that knowledge didn't stop the nightmares.

No.

For many years, those were just as constant companions as the scars that now adorned his body.

XxX

Like many of his people during the wars, Garazeb Orrelios ceased to think about whether his world would ever look any different than it did now. With realities like disease, conflict, and death, was it any wonder that people forgot about the notion of color?

Though Lasan had never been part of the Galactic Republic or the Confederacy of Independent Systems, they had always been fierce allies of Kashyyyk. When the Wookiees had pledged aid and loyalty to the Republic at the onset of the Clone Wars, Queen Astyrialle had had every intention of standing to fight with their allies.

But all of those intentions had changed when their home had been swept by plague.

Lasat perished in droves from the deadly spread of pestilence. It wasn't difficult to convince both sides of the conflict to steer clear of the stricken planet. Even Zeb himself was hit by the disease, emerging from his fever to find the High Honor Guard cut nearly in half, along with his own family. His parents, Gav, and her wife had all succumbed to the illness, leaving just Gran and himself alive. Ash and Chala were only spared because they were offworld fighting, Ash at the head of an Honor Guard contingent that had been leant to the defense of Kashyyyk.

Lasan recovered gradually from the horrific sickness, but the wars came to an end just as they were barely recovered from those trying times, and in the wake of the wars came the Empire.

The Imperials blocked communications between the two allies and Lasan did not learn of the subjugation of Kashyyyk until it was _far_ too late to do anything about it. Those Wookiees who remained free fled their home with the assistance of their Honor Guard allies, bringing word of the deaths of Ashvyr Orrelios and Chaladdik with them to Lasan. And when the Empire came for those survivors, Lasan rose up in open revolt against the young regime. Fragile though they still were, no Lasat would willingly stand by while a friend was suffering.

The Empire offered to spare Lasan if Astyrialle would willingly surrender the refugees from Kashyyyk, but the Lasat queen had glared regally down at the Imperial emissary and flat out refused him.

"No child of Lasan would _ever_ betray a sworn friendship," she informed the human cowering on the floor of her throne room, and pathetic piglet though he was, the Imperial still sneered as he looked up at her.

"Then every child of Lasan will _die._ "

The Imperial siege had lasted for weeks, with their forces gradually whittling down Lasan's planetary defenses, until it finally came down to ground assault. The Lasat would have had a distinct advantage over the Imperials in direct combat...

...were it not for the treacherous creatures coming at them with the ion disruptors.

Zeb observed the first volley from a distance, having just emerged from the war room after reports of a night attack had disrupted the meeting of the high command. The beams from the Imperial weapons had bathed the city streets in light, cleansing them of everything living in only a few horrific minutes.

Planetwide reports quickly started to pour in. These weapons were everywhere, and their enemies were quickly and efficiently erasing them from existence. By the time the sun rose upon their beleaguered world, comms had fallen silent. The city centers were either on their own...or completely destroyed.

There was little they could do against the monstrous weapons. They could do nothing but hold the palace against the Empire – the very last stronghold for their people. When Zeb led the Honor Guard out from the palace, it was with the expectation that this battle was to be his last, so he was going to have the Guard make a last stand that would be remembered, taking no small number of Imperials with them.

Before the battle had begun, he'd given the order that there would be no retreat, but that anyone who chose to would not be thought less of. One could hardly argue with wanting to die in a way that seemed best to you. It was beginning to happen as more and more of his warriors fell before the blazing light of the disruptor fire, seizing up in agony for a brief moment before vanishing in smoke and ash.

The captain had just swept down a line of stormtroopers with his bo-rifle, preventing at least one more round of disruptor fire, when he looked down to see the latest wave of Imperials moving up from the city below, catching sight of one Imperial in particular.

The young man had all the signs of one who was weary of battle, but Zeb didn't let himself see that. Instead, he focused on the bo-rifle the man had strapped to his back. This stinking piece of filth had taken a bo-rifle off the dead body of one of his men! There was no way he was going to let that stand. Sweeping his own rifle out in a challenging stance, he was just about to issue a call down to the soldier.

But then he looked into the Imperial's eyes and everything changed all in an instant.

When he had time to think about it later, he would say that the color of the human's eyes was soft and gentle, a warm color that he didn't yet have a name for. But in that moment, seeing the color for the first time amid a sea of blacks and whites and grays, that color was the sharpest, most intense thing he'd ever beheld in his life.

"Ashla, have mercy," he whispered in shocked horror, stumbling back a few steps. Then, all in an instant, that single point of color burst violently outward, consuming everything around it in a wash of light and color that literally transformed the world before his eyes.

He had never truly seen the city around him before. What had once existed as a gray scale was suddenly an infinite palette of form and color that he never could've imagined existing before this moment. How right his sister had been.

He had never seen his own _hands_ before, and now there they were in a regal transformation from their previous pale gray, tinged with the blood of his enemies.

 _Red,_ he remembered Ash saying. _Blood is red. This is_ _ **red.**_

There was simply too much to process, too much to _see_. Too many endless shades and variations of color that he had absolutely no name for. And as it all came descending down on him, Garazeb Orrelios remembered that this had all happened because of the Imperial.

 _No! No, no, no, no, NO!_

"Can't be...it _can't be_ ," he breathed in horror, stumbling back until he actually fell, just barely missing being incinerated by a brilliant ray of light he could no longer describe in terms he understood. It just _couldn't be!_ There was no way _his soulmate_ was a kriffing piece of Imperial scum! He couldn't be bound by destiny to a man who was taking part in the slaughter of his people.

But then, just when the captain thought he actually might go mad, he looked back at the man who had brought color into his world, seeing a look of torn anguish in those eyes that had changed everything as he drew the stolen bo-rifle. For a moment that seemed to last forever, he aimed the weapon at Zeb, and for the life of him, the captain of the High Honor Guard couldn't bring himself to raise his own rifle. Was this really his fate? To be killed by the being that destiny had marked out for him?

However, when he remained in his downed position, made no move to attack, the Imperial tore his gaze away from the captain, crying out in frustrated anguish as he dropped to his knees.

 _Is this...not who you are?_

"Captain! Come on!" one of the remaining guards was suddenly shouting in his ear, probably thinking him injured – and in a way, he was, just not to a point that he needed her to wrap an arm around his shoulders and bodily drag him back in the direction of the palace the way she did. Either way, he was still too much in shock to resist. All he could manage to do was stare back at the human. In spite of it all, in spite of everything he had endured and everything he had lost, he still _cared_ about what it was this supposed partner of his actually felt.

But then, from the corner of his eye, he caught sight of another guardsman caught in a disruptor beam, and when he saw this Lasat he had known vanish into ashes, he focused on the stark color of the particles.

 _Ash. Ash is still black. Ash will_ _ **always**_ _be black._

Turning a newly enraged glare down upon the Imperials, he suddenly realized something he hadn't before.

Their enemies weren't actually pursuing them. They were watching them flee to the supposed safety of their fortress.

"NO! _STOP!_ " he tried to warn the few remaining guards, but that was the moment his world vanished in white and red before releasing him into the sweet relief of black. And when he awoke again, there was nothing left.

His gran had swept in with her personal starship to save the few members of the Guard who had survived the bombing. Though he could hardly say as much to her, he knew he would've preferred to leave his life before the gates of the palace, as so many others had. Not only did he have the guilt of surviving when he shouldn't have, but the added guilt of the bloom of color that now stained his reality – the guilt of who that color belonged to. He couldn't bring himself to tell anyone about the shift. On top of everything else that had happened, he didn't think he could also bear the shame of being soulbound to an Imperial, no matter who that Imperial was. The worst of the new colors came when he caught a glimpse of his eyes in the 'fresher mirror.

He'd thought maybe to try and see what this new face of his looked like, but the very first thing he'd fixated on were his eyes, round, luminous, and wide open in shock. Ash had once told him they were green.

But green...it was the same color as disruptor fire...it was the color of the end of the world he'd witnessed before the palace on that last day.

"Not this... _not this!_ " he'd sobbed pitifully, squeezing those abhorrent eyes shut as he stumbled back against the 'fresher door. If he had to endure this every time he looked at himself – to relive the death of his world, the ignoble end of his fellow guards...his own _shame_ – if _this_ was his fate, he might as well die here, because he _couldn't_ bear it.

And then, as if some merciful goddess had heard his despair, he looked up at his reflection to see the color slowly bleeding from his eyes, leaving them bare and blessedly gray.

All of the colors faded away after that day, slowly, down through the years, as he gradually became the only survivor from Gran's ship and, so far as he knew, the only Lasat. All of the colors faded back into comforting gray. All of them.

Except one.

That very first color. That hue that was caught somewhere between light brown and pale yellow.

The color of the human's eyes.

It was a rare color, he found. Rare enough that it was almost like being colorblind again. But every now and then, it would appear – the turn of a stone or the shine of a valuable metal – and every time it did, he was reminded of his ugly fate. He didn't know the color's name. Had never bothered to try and find out. But even so, those eyes still haunted his dreams, never allowing him peace. Kanan and Hera tried not to ask him about those moments after he'd become a member of the _Ghost_ crew, and he appreciated the attempt, but there came a day when even they couldn't ignore it.

The color appeared twice during a run – the sands of some nameless slaver outpost, as well as the ancient, heavy chains used by the gang. Zeb had seen the chains before, having once been held captive by something similar, but it hadn't been the chains themselves that had shattered his composure.

No.

It was that kriffing _color!_

Kanan came after him once all the fighting was over. By all accounts, it had been a successful run. The gang was out of business for good and all of their _merchandise_ set free. It should've been a time for celebration, but all the Lasat could manage to do was crouch in the colored sand a ways off from the _Ghost_ , letting handfuls of the stuff flow out through his fingers as he stared at it.

"Doin' all right, big guy?" the former padawan asked as he sat beside him on the sand.

Zeb just grunted in response, never once tearing his gaze from the shifting grains of sand.

"Right. Good talk," Kanan said. "Guess you're- gonna be relieved to be away from here. Must bring up some pretty ugly memories."

Oh, much more than the man knew, and not even in the way he was probably thinking.

"Kanan?" Zeb found himself asking just as the Jedi was shifting to rise to his feet. Holding up another handful of sand, he asked, "What color is this?"

"Color?" Kanan returned with a look of surprise. "You want to know about color? I thought you- couldn't see it."

"Can't...mostly," he responded, only looking at his friend out of the corner of his eye. "Just the one. Never really- known what it's called."

"Amber," the Jedi said gently. "I'd say that color is amber."

Amber. His soulmate's eyes were amber.

"And it- it's the only color you can..." Kanan's voice slowly trailed off as he came to the realization of exactly what that meant. "Oh, man. Can...can I ask what _happened?_ "

Zeb gave a pained laugh at that. "You can ask. Doesn't mean I'll tell you, but you can ask."

"So...?"

"It was a long time ago. When the shift first happened, I could see _all_ the colors...but the others all disappeared over time...all except this one," he said, looking down at the small bit of amber-colored sand still sitting in his palm.

"Did...did you actually _meet_ them?" Kanan pressed.

"Not...exactly. Locked eyes for just a moment. Then it was done," he answered, remembering the anguish in the Imperial's gaze with a pained swallow. Who _was_ he? Whoever he was, he was still alive. Zeb was reminded of that fact every time he caught a glimpse of the color...of amber. But he still hadn't decided if that was a good thing or a bad thing.

"Well...have you ever tried to _find_ them?"

" _No,_ " Zeb snarled in a voice that did not invite debate, fixing his gaze on the sunset instead of his friend. What good would that do? There were only two outcomes, really. Either he would learn that this man had been suffering like him all this time...or that he really was just a cruel, murderous Imperial and Zeb's fate truly was as despicable as he'd first known in the moments when color had first washed into his life. "It's...no. Trust me, Kanan, no good can come a' that. Let it be."

"But if this person's your soulm-"

" _Don't say it!_ " he snarled at the human. "I _told you_ to let it be. It's not as simple as you're makin' out. Not everybody gets a fairytale love story like you'n Hera."

"Like me and..." Again, Kanan's voice trailed off, his cheeks becoming a darker shade of gray as he blushed lightly.

"Well, you _are_ , aren't you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow. He'd never asked, but he'd always assumed...had he thought wrong?

"We are," Kanan confirmed with a nod.

"How's that work then?" Zeb asked, latching onto something, _anything_ , that would turn the conversation away from him. "With you bein' a sorta Jedi? Thought they weren't supposed to have attachments. A soulmate's just about the biggest sort of attachment there is."

"You're not wrong," the human returned with a sigh. "How it worked was...when a padawan reached a certain point in their trials of knighthood, they came to a moment when they would be required to surrender the soul bond back to the Force – the ultimate sign of commitment to the Jedi way. To be selfless enough to surrender that kind of connection..."

"Not sure the soulmate would see it that way," Zeb couldn't help commenting. "Might seem a bit more self _ish_ to the person on the other end."

"Maybe...but for all they would know, their soulmate had simply died. It was another reason training started so young. Less likely you would've met your fated partner as a child. Either way, though...I didn't progress far enough in my training to reach a point where I was required to surrender my mark. I still have it," he said, carefully stripping off the armor that protected his right shoulder. Then he shifted aside a slit in the fabric of the shirt to reveal a string of words inscribed on his chest. It was the first time Zeb had seen a human soulmark, and he could see how it shimmered in the sunlight, but the color of it was a mystery to the Lasat.

'Excuse me! Where can I find the repulsorlift entrance to Moonglow?'

"Doesn't look like much, does it," Kanan said with a tender smile, fingers briefly stroking the words before he covered them up again. "Doesn't _mean_ much...but it was more than the words. I was enthralled from the moment I heard her voice. I was a stupid kid, but I would've followed her anywhere."

"And...what do you think you would've done...if you _had_ gone far enough in your trainin' to give up the bond?" Zeb found himself asking, not really sure _why_ it mattered, or if it even did, but curious nonetheless. _Could_ you just give up something like that?

Kanan shrugged. "I don't know. Were that the case, it would mean that the Clone Wars played out a different way and we might not have even had a chance to meet. But they didn't, we did, and here we are."

"How long'd it take _her_ to figure it out?" Zeb continued to ask. He knew Twi'leks didn't have soulmarks, but he didn't know what it was they _did_ have.

"Not long. First time she heard me singing a drinking song. Twi'leks hear the voices of their partners singing to them in their dreams. I didn't know that back when we first met. I couldn't exactly say anything when she didn't react at all to my first words to her. Figured I'd have to earn it another way. But I was pretty deep in my alcohol back in the day. Didn't take much to get me singing, and then she was looking at me like I'd grown a second head and I knew...I just _knew._ "

It was _them_. It was very much them. And as awkward and fumblingly romantic as it was, it also introduced some notions to Zeb that he hadn't considered before. On the level of logic, he was aware that different races had different soul bond identifiers, but it wasn't something he'd ever really considered in the thousands of times he'd relived that first moment in his head. That man, whoever he was, hadn't been despairing over seeing color for the first time. Color was as much a part of his vision as gray was a part of Zeb's. His partner – his _soulmate_ – had a soulmark...like Kanan's. Somewhere on his body were inscribed the first words Zeb would ever speak to him...and they _hadn't spoken._ Did this human even _know_...what they were...what they could be to each other? Would anything change if he knew?

And why was he even still beating himself up over it all? All these years, he'd tried to dismiss it, tried to tell himself it didn't matter, that it didn't both heal and harm him each time another color faded away...that he didn't both _need_ and _fear_ to finally lose amber, too. Bogan's teeth, he wanted to be _free_ of it...but...did he? Really?

 _Who are you? What's your name? What will it take to make you leave me in peace?_

XxX

Alexsandr Kallus wished he could say he was proud of the work he did on Lasan, but whenever he was alone with his own thoughts, whenever he allowed memory to creep up on him in the darkest hours of the night cycle, he knew he wasn't. He had done what was asked of him – done his duty. He had given up what he believed to be right for the sake of something higher that he believed in. The system was broken. The Emperor knew how to fix it. The Empire was about fixing what was broken...

...wasn't it?

Lasan had threatened that stability when it had chosen to throw in its lot with that handful of Wookiee insurgents. Surely they would yield to the Empire when they understood what it was truly about.

 _Honestly, Alexsandr, it's like you haven't spent your entire life studying them._

What he thought was right didn't matter. It could be given up. He had witnessed firsthand just how broken the Republic was. He had given his loyalty to the Empire because it had promised _change_. His own petty life could be given in exchange for an ideal like that.

But even _he_ couldn't fully make himself obey when he saw just what kind of damage the T-7 ion disruptors were capable of.

He had given permission to the platoons under his command to use the new weapons, but only at the utmost end of need – when faced with an enemy who absolutely _refused_ to surrender.

 _But you_ _ **knew**_ _it would come to that...didn't you, Kallus. You_ _ **know**_ _the mind of a Lasat. To surrender is to die._

Probably he had known what it would come to. No Lasat warrior would surrender, but perhaps enough concession could be made for civilians? Perhaps the small but proud Outer Rim world could be left in peace as a colony world with its military dismantled? He had hoped for some sort of compromise...

...but then he had blown away a street of unarmed civilians in addition to the guardsman who had been the focus of his attack.

They couldn't have known. It just wasn't possible. The disruptors were experimental. There was no _way_ their superiors could've known what sort of damage they would do. He _had_ to believe that. Otherwise he would go mad. He had ripped the power core from his own weapon in a moment of horrified shock (though he _had_ held onto it, because _surely_ there would be an inquiry once this was all over... _surely_ ), but rather than use the standard issue blaster that was part of his sergeant's kit, he had activated the collapsible bo staff that was his preferred close quarter weapon. If he was expected to help lead this final attack, he would have to do it his own way. So he had rescinded permission for his own commands to use the disruptors, leaping back into the fight without waiting to learn if any of the other commanders had done the same.

He had become lost in the mesmeric dance of combat with the city's small time militia by the time the Guardsman had stepped up to challenge him.

" _You!_ Imperial!" the Lasat had called out, taking a firm stance in the middle of the rubble-filled street before deploying his bo-rifle in the staff configuration. " _Face me!_ "

Kallus quickly fell into a proper dueling pose, saluting his opponent before the two of them began to circle each other.

"You're not like them," the Guardsman declared after several moments of silent observation, moving forward with an experimental jab to his head. Kallus ducked low enough to let the blow pass overhead, moving in with a sweep from below, which the Lasat easily avoided.

"Maybe. Or maybe you don't know the Empire as well as you _think_ you do," he fired back, raising the end of his staff in a feint toward his opponent's mid section. Unfortunately, the Guardsman recognized it for the tactic it was and not an amateur mistake, coming around to meet the real blow when Kallus sent the opposite end of the staff whirling toward his head.

With the sudden disadvantage of his opponent's weight pressing against the end of the staff, Kallus found himself thrown back by the Lasat's sheer strength. He barely managed to keep his feet, moving into a low crouch with his staff swung wide in order to maintain his balance. He was not going to win like this, not against an opponent who was not only larger, stronger, and faster, but also vastly more experienced than he was. No. If he was to triumph, it would have to be by fighting _smarter_ , not harder.

"Heh, believe me, young one, it is impossible to know your enemy as well as you ever _think_ you do," the older warrior told him, their staffs tangling together. "If you knew them _that_ well, you would not be fighting so hard against them."

"Sound advice," Kallus growled low in his throat before cleanly disengaging from the deadlock, collapsing his staff to execute a quick roll backwards before reengaging it as he dropped into a defensive crouch. "Does your statement apply to the Empire?"

The Guardsman actually laughed at that one. "Much as I might not like to concede the point at this exact moment, far be it from me to contradict myself," he said before flipping his staff back to the rifle configuration and firing a shot into a nearby building. Kallus half fell for the trick, gaze flicking back over his shoulder in distraction. The next moment, he found himself pinned to the ground by the Guardsman's reconfigured bo-staff.

He didn't have the strength to hold his opponent back for long, so instead of waiting for the electrified tip to come into contact with his skin, he redirected the force of his enemy's attack so that the tip of the staff ground into the street instead, causing the Guardsman to slip and affording him the chance to slip away.

"You're awfully amused for someone whose world is coming down around their ears," Kallus noted, thinking perhaps to get a rise out of the older warrior, but the Lasat simply offered him a weary, saddened smile as they turned back to one another.

"No better day to laugh than the last one of your life. For now, let's just say that my comfort is revived by the fact that there are _some_ true warriors among you," he said, launching into a series of quick-stepped blows, forcing Kallus to keep on the defensive, but the Imperial managed to maneuver his way out of the retreat with another low move, slipping around behind the Lasat.

"So does that mean you will surrender?" Kallus asked as his enemy came around to face him once more, and in that moment he honestly wasn't sure if he'd meant it to be a joke.

"You misunderstand me, boy," the Guardsman said with a snarl, though there was still amusement in his luminous eyes as he held his bo-staff out in challenge. "I commend the fact that you have strength in you. I didn't say I wouldn't _fight._ "

And so they fought. They moved back and forth against one another, ranging all across the shattered street while the battle raged around them, gradually becoming more of a retreat. Both warriors gave this fight everything they had, with the Lasat unleashing his full strength and range of motion and Kallus keeping low and out of his opponent's range, forcing him to expend his energy and reach, gradually wearing him down without him noticing. Until, ultimately, it was Kallus who delivered the decisive _crack_ to the Guardsman's head, sending him sprawling to the dusty street with blood seeping from the split skin at his temple.

The Guardsman choked out one last laugh, gazing blearily up at the sky as Kallus stood over him, staff held just above his head in the victor's pose. "A glorious battle, young one. Truly...worthy of a warrior's last. You fight- very well. And yet...I believe _I_ am the one who comes out the better."

"And why is that?" Kallus spat out, unable to say how it was he actually felt in this moment.

"Because I may go in peace. But you...you will have to live with yourself."

Kallus took an involuntary step back at that, inhaling sharply. It was such a strange experience for him. Why should this warrior _care_ what he feels, especially since Kallus is the one who's killed him?

Grunting in pain, the Lasat slowly reached out for his fallen weapon. For a moment, Kallus thought to kick it out of reach, but ultimately couldn't bring himself to. He simply remained wary as the Guardsman drew the bo-rifle against his chest, making a sort of clumsy half-salute with it.

"What...what is your name, human?" the Guardsman asked him, voice thick with pain.

Kallus regarded him for a moment before answering, "Kallus. My name is Alexsandr Kallus."

"Then...you have the heart of a warrior...Alexsandr Kallus. Do not let them take it from you," he said, offering up his weapon in as firm a motion as he was able.

For a moment, all Kallus could do was stare at the offered weapon in shock. This...this was _this_. This was _why_... Briefly, his gaze flicked between the bo-rifle and his concealed left forearm. Ever since the campaign had begun, he'd been terrified of what he would find beneath his uniform at the close of each day. The now familiar sight of his scarred, battered soulmark...or bare skin, marred only by the rage of the Lasat mercenary's claws. He'd known going into this...that it might be so...that he might be signing on to assist in the death of his own soulmate, but he'd already decided that he couldn't allow himself to cleave to the mark. What he felt didn't matter. His own little life was insignificant. What mattered was bringing peace to a galaxy gone mad – preventing even one more innocent from suffering needlessly. He had sworn to give everything he was to that cause...

...but...even enemies could show respect to one another. As much as it would pain him to accept this gesture of his foe's esteem, couldn't he at least grant an honorable warrior this in his final moments? So, as the Guardsman's arm was beginning to shake with the weight of the weapon, Kallus nodded, collapsing his own staff and accepting the bo-rifle.

The Lasat offered up a relieved smile as he let himself collapse back against the street. Then, eyes closed, he began to chant what sounded like some sort of prayer.

"Ashla praise...for her child that dies and lives again. The circle moves...ever onward...all things in balance in their time. For this guardian, there is no end. The fight continues on in stronger hands...stronger...weaker...different and the same...ever the same... _Ashla na silir...Ashla na rever...na velenir sir an..._ "

His voice fell into Lasana at the last, the words whispered upon fading sighs as his chest rose and fell...then one last time before it did not resume.

Kallus slowly fell to his knees beside his fallen opponent, the bo-rifle clutched in tight, pale fingers. He now knew the reason for his soulmate's anger, and with the thought of that bond curdling maddeningly in his brain, the agent was seized by a kind of insane desperation.

Slinging the rifle onto his back, Kallus tore off his glove and ripped up his sleeve, exhaling a tiny cry of relief when he saw the words, still shimmering upon his arm. Unless he was imagining it, they might've actually been glowing brighter.

' _Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a bo-rifle!_ '

Only the Honor Guard...and here he was with a dead Guardsman beside him, and the ashes of Lasan's dead filling the air he breathed. Even though he wasn't supposed to care, wasn't supposed to let it shape his life in any way, here in this moment, Alexsandr Kallus couldn't help but hate himself. Drawing in several shuddered breaths, he pressed a trembling kiss to the mark.

 _Forgive me. Forgive me. I'm_ _ **so sorry.**_ _Can you_ _ **ever**_ _forgive me?_

Kallus just wasn't fully engaged in what was left of the battle after that. He followed vaguely where the fray led. He once found himself locking eyes with a downed Lasat, just within his range from where he found himself standing below the royal palace. Out of habit, he went for his weapon, aiming unsteadily up at the being who was supposed to be his enemy, but the Lasat made no move to return fire or even to flee. He just lay there, the look of horror in his eyes so complete Kallus couldn't bear it. He tore his gaze away, crying out as he dropped to his knees once more.

He was lucky enough to be looking away when the final cluster of proton bombs went off, taking out the palace.

Kallus didn't remember much of the following days. He attended command briefings when summoned, made his reports, but didn't hear much of what was said. He would lie down, but he wouldn't sleep. He would tear open a ration bar, but suddenly find himself sick at the thought of eating it. Some distant part of his brain was aware of just how kriffed up he was after everything, but he couldn't let himself acknowledge it. He didn't acknowledge much of anything until at least three days after the siege had ended – when he caught a glimpse of his soulmark in the 'fresher.

At first, he thought he was imagining it, but when he actually stopped to look at the water trickling over the mark, he found that he wasn't just seeing things. The letters upon his skin were fading, gradually becoming lighter and lighter.

"No," he whispered in horror, fingers tracing desperately along what little of the mark was still there. "Stars, _please_...no!"

 _Not this. Not this._ _ **Anything**_ _but this!_

But the mark could not be bargained with. It could not be persuaded by the trembling of his body or the tears pouring down his face as he collapsed to the 'fresher floor. It only continued to fade.

"Please...please don't go... _not now,_ " he begged, cradling his arm against his chest as if it weren't part of his own body.

 _If I lose you now...I will have nothing left._

"Please," he tried one last time, suddenly feeling pain in the scars that crisscrossed his arm. "Don't leave me alone with _him_. _Please._ "

And with that, just when it seemed it might really be over, the fading stopped. The words were barely there, unbearably light in their new lavender color, but they were _not gone._ His partner wasn't dead, but something horrible must have happened to them – something that brought them close to death or made them want to give up on living.

There could be no doubt about it anymore. For this to happen _now_...his soulmate _was_ a Lasat. His soulmate was a Lasat and what he had done to their home, to their _people_ , was unforgivable. This was the end of their journey together, before it had even really had a chance to begin. He couldn't say how long he sat there in the refresher, mourning that bond he'd never really had the chance to experience – long enough for the water to shut down on its own, at least.

 _Live a life you feel would have made your partner happy._

Kallus laughed bitterly at the memory of his mother's words, a cruel joke in his mind as the tears continued to flow down his face. He was quite certain that what would have made his soulmate happy would have been to have their home world left in peace.

"I had no choice. I had _no choice_ ," he choked out, fingers digging desperately into the faded mark, wishing for claws sharp enough to pierce his own skin with.

 _Didn't you?_

"No," he told himself firmly, wiping the tears from his face with a shaking fist. He _had_ made a choice. The galaxy was still in chaos. Only the strict rule of the Empire could succeed where the Republic had failed. No matter how painful this was, he had to see it through. _He_ didn't matter. Probably his partner was better off never meeting him anyway. Maybe...it was better to just leave these things that might've been in the past?

The only way to honor their bond was to make sure that the things he'd done hadn't been for nothing.

"I'm sorry," he said softly, merely pressing his forehead against the mark, not daring to defile the shattered bond with a kiss. He didn't ask for forgiveness this time.

There was no forgiveness.


	2. Why Are You My Remedy?

**When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest**

 _Chapter 2: Why Are You My Remedy?_

Alexsandr Kallus shed no more tears for his lost soulmate.

Steeling himself for the long fight ahead, the ISB agent opted to engage in a practice that was commonplace in the ranks of the Imperial military – binding his soulmark. He kept a length of cloth wrapped around the mark at all times. Some officers utilized blackout tattoos, but those always faded away with time. It seemed simpler to him, just keeping the mark concealed. It wasn't as if he was out of uniform often anyway. The small length of cloth was more of a symbol than anything.

Down through the years, it gradually became easier not to think about what his partner would think of him, to inure himself against the harm he knew he was causing in order to serve a greater purpose. There were times he told himself he'd managed to forget about the withered mark on his arm, but the truth was he could always picture it perfectly in his mind's eye whenever he let his thoughts stray to the cloth wrapped around his forearm. _Mostly_ he managed not to think about it – but not always.

He found himself thinking about it more often when an insurgent cell emerged with a Lasat as one of its members. Unable to help noticing that the rebel carried a bo-rifle, thoughts of the words that may or may not have still been visible on his arm (he didn't know, it felt like _years_ since he'd allowed himself to look) traced through his head more and more. Where did this Lasat get his weapon? After all, there was no way a g _uardsman_ could be a rebel. Either way, the point was mute, as he didn't see how _any_ of the Guard could've possibly escaped that final onslaught.

Just who _was_ this Spectre Four?

That question began to tug increasingly on his mind after the incident with the Lothal street rat. He first noticed it when he'd seized the boy attempting to escape with the other rebels.

The Lasat had tried to get in a shot at him, but had apparently been unwilling to risk hitting the boy. In his moment of hesitation, the rebel's eyes had flicked up to his and in the next instant, those round eyes had grown even wider in something like shock. The naked rawness of the expression nearly caused Kallus to release the boy. But the look of horror had stalled the Lasat for only a moment before he tore his gaze away with a final look of...pain? Kallus knew Lasat features well enough to say that was what the expression was, but he could think of no reason for the rebel to make such a face. Had he been injured in the skirmish? He could understand the initial look of shock and horror. Even after all these years, it was certainly possible this Lasat recognized him from the Siege of Lasan. But that last little look of quiet agony was an expression he could in no way account for.

It nagged at him, long after the Spectres had escaped. It happened a few more times, him catching the Lasat staring at him from the other side of a heist or a shootout, but he didn't really have the chance to confront Spectre Four directly until the incident with the disruptors.

He hadn't known, at first, what sort of weapons the stolen shipment contained. When Minister Tua made mention of it, he was half-tempted to dismiss her report. If _anyone_ in the Empire was attempting to trade in less than legal ion disruptors, he wanted nothing to do with it – except maybe to track them to their source and put a stop to it. Only...it wasn't all that much better for them to fall into insurgent hands, either. Perhaps he could seize the cache and keep it tied up in an evidence locker for the next three years? It was with these angry, bitter thoughts in mind in the heat of the firefight that he called the Lasat out to face him – just as the Guardsman back on Lasan had done all those years ago.

Spectre Four eyed him up and down for several moments at the challenge, something heavy shifting in his countenance before a positively _nasty_ look twisted his features. Then he roared in rage as he sprang from his cover, running forward to engage Kallus with his newly deployed bo-staff.

They traded blows for several moments, Kallus testing his opponent's strength while the Spectre came at him with rage and fury, eventually dealing him a blow that laid him out flat. Then, with his bo-rifle raised overhead from a backhand sweep, Spectre Four spoke to him for the first time.

"Only the Honor Guard of Lasan may carry a _bo-rifle!_ "

For a moment that seemed to last a small eternity, Kallus lay still upon the dusty ground. The words he'd thought he would never hear filled his ears like the horrifically beautiful call of a siren. For that moment alone, he was detached entirely from reality, wondering at the miracle and the damnation that had brought him to this.

 _It's you,_ he wanted to whisper, wanted to reach up and touch the Lasat's face. _You're the one._

But then, just as suddenly, he found himself gripped by an indomitable _rage._

Because _how dare! How_ _ **dare you!**_

 _How dare it be you! How dare this holy_ _ **scar**_ _on my body belong to_ _ **you!**_

" _I know!_ " he shouted, laughing and crying all at once, because there was nothing in all the galaxy he knew even _half_ so well as that. That knowledge defined him, to a greater extent than he would ever want to admit. But that didn't mean he wasn't still angry with this rebel. "I removed it from a Guardsman myself!"

While that wasn't _un_ true...exactly...Spectre Four took it just as Kallus thought he would, and all he wanted in that moment was to piss the Lasat off. So, with just as much rage as his enemy had first come at him with, the agent launched himself back into the fight, giving it all the pent-up years of anger, longing, heartbreak, fear, and self-sacrifice that were in him. And though the words burned his throat on the way out, he spun a version of his involvement on Lasan he felt certain would enflame the rebel's fury.

"I was there when Lasan fell. I _know_ how you fear those disruptors. _I_ gave the order to _use them!_ "

The animal _shriek_ that tore from the Lasat's throat at his words had less of anger than it did of pain – a soul deep anguish that carried much more than just the hate of one enemy for another. That scream carried a question – the single unutterable and unanswerable refrain of _why?_ Why _you?_ Why _me?_ Why _this?_ Why _**us?**_

 _ **It's not fair.**_

As they battled back and forth over the terrain, mindless of everything else that was happening, Kallus thought he now understood the reason for the Spectre's expression that first day. It must've been because he'd brought color to the Lasat's eyes, and his enemy had been just as destroyed by that as he was, rent in pieces by the unfairness of it all. They didn't attempt to speak. There was nothing to say. They both knew what a hideous fate this was.

Under normal circumstances, Kallus certainly wouldn't have considered the tremor of the ground that delivered the rebel warrior against the electrified tip of his weapon to be a proper hit. He would've backed off – except there was _nothing_ proper about this moment. All he really felt in this moment was a need to just make everything _stop._ With his bo-rifle held high above the downed Lasat's head, he knew he could. He could end this right now – could end this suffering warrior's life and set them both free, remove the hated sight of color from the Spectre's eyes and wipe the hated and loved words from his skin, ending his dependence on them once and for all.

There had never been a better moment, and he didn't imagine there ever would be again.

But even so, he hesitated.

He stood over his fallen foe, strike undelivered, wondering just what sort of monster would be left within his skin once the deed was done – to murder his own _soulmate_...

 _You can be_ _ **free**_ _..._

"Please..." Spectre Four actually _begged_ as he gazed up at him with tired, defeated eyes. "Just make it _stop_."

 _Set me free._

But before Kallus could make the choice one way or the other, a small, desperate voice cried out ' _NO!_ ' and he was sent flying from his fated partner by an unseen force, crashing hard against a stone outcropping and nearly falling unconscious. He managed to get back up again, but by the time he did, the Spectres were long gone. The Lasat with them, leaving him to once again tear off his glove and rip up his sleeve, angrily peeling away the length of dark cloth that concealed his soulmark, only to see it shimmering as brightly and beautifully as ever, the violet color standing out sharply from his pale skin, almost _mocking_ him in some way. With his troopers either dead or unconscious, there was no one around to hear Alexsandr Kallus' tortured scream as he threw his helmet against the rocks.

After that day, the ISB agent threw himself into researching the individual members of Spectre Cell. He learned about Hera Syndulla and Kanan Jarrus, the daughter of the Twi'lek revolutionary and the Jedi who seemed to have no past. He learned of Sabine Wren, the Mandalorian deserter with a taste for art, and of Ezra Bridger, son of known dissenters Ephraim and Mira Bridger, now a Jedi padawan. And of course, he learned about the Lasat warrior that Syndulla and Jarrus had liberated from slavers on Morverin III, finally learning a name to attach to the words on his arm.

Garazeb Orrelios.

Son of the House of Orrelios, grandson of the great matriarch, Bennali Orrelios, captain of the Lasan High Honor Guard at only 23 years of age, _extremely_ young for a Lasat. He had heard the name back during the Siege, though he'd never had the chance to face him until now. Orrelios was truly the best of the best that Lasan had to offer...and _he_ was Kallus' soulmate.

If he had known...if he had only _known_...

Would it have really changed anything? It would not have changed the decision he'd made to support the fledgling Empire. It wouldn't have changed the world he was born into, nor altered the shameful treatment of both him and his mother by his senator father. It would not have changed his resolve to help reforge a broken system in any way he could. Would Garazeb Orrelios maybe understand that desire? Or could he do no more than hate the Empire as the slaughterers of his people, as was his right? It was too late to know, either way. Whatever bond they might've shared was beyond saving, hopelessly shattered and twisted. They could do no more than be who they were – an Imperial Security agent and a rebel warrior.

Though, on nights when he was reminded of the soulmark still burning brightly on his forearm, ignited again after so many cold and weary years, even _he_ had to wonder just how true that was.

XxX

The colors began to return during that first battle on Lothal.

Zeb didn't know how to feel about that at first. During the fight, it had just been that same haunting color, those amber eyes glaring fire at him across the battlefield. After the challenge, he'd launched himself into the fight with all his years of rage, guilt, self-hatred, and _worry_ that were behind him. He needed to just _end this._ Somehow...

 _Please..._ he begged silently. _Let me hate you. I_ _ **need**_ _to hate you._

But then he'd reminded the agent of the shame he carried in his own hands, and he had _seen_ the way those words had broken and remade something inside of Agent Kallus. So, even as he spewed his virulent words, Zeb could still see the strange union of truth and untruth in his eyes – his _amber eyes_. And then, quite suddenly, the crackling energy that emitted from the Imperial's bo-rifle shifted from gray into vibrant color.

Yellow.

Against the gray of the agent's skin, he caught a glimpse of a loose strand of hair in another shade of yellow.

No! No, no, no, _no NO!_ He couldn't _do this_ again!

Maybe he really _did_ want to die when he was on his knees before Agent Kallus.

But still, the agent hesitated.

And he _kept on_ hesitating.

They would come up against each other in skirmishes, have the perfect opportunity each to end the other, and at the last possible moment, would hesitate to strike the killing blow. Zeb would hesitate to take the shot or Kallus would hesitate to bring his bo-rifle down and just _end it._ They would look each other in the eye, still unable to ask or answer _why._

On and on and on, and now he, Kanan, and the kids were stuck on Seelos with the Imperials on their way and the _Phantom_ damaged. While Sabine scrambled to get it repaired, Zeb found himself without much to do except let his thoughts wander, and that inevitably led to dangerous places.

Would it be Kallus to come for them yet again? Somehow he didn't doubt it. He also knew the ISB agent wouldn't hesitate to kill his friends, but...what sort of hangup might happen between the two of _them_ this time? Maybe it would be easier for Kallus to fire on him if he couldn't actually look him in the eye?

He'd never told any of his friends about him and Kallus. There was no point to it. There was nothing anyone could do about it and he _certainly_ didn't want their pity. He was trapped as ever he had been.

"Karabast," he snarled quietly, kicking a foot against a section of wall in the clones' odd little walking home.

"Y'know, this old junker can take a lot, but I wouldn't go mistreatin' her just the same," Rex said as he came upon him.

Zeb rolled his eyes, taking in the many different shades of his most recently reacquired color around the AT-TE – brown. Junker was right, but still, it _was_ their home. "Sorry," he mumbled. "Lot goin' on."

"Not at this exact moment, no," the clone captain pointed out. "We're all just killin' time. Did find yourself a good place to sulk though," he jibed.

"'m not _sulkin'_ ," he snapped out, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned back against the wall.

"No, course not. You're just back here makin' tea," Rex continued to joke, but his expression grew more solemn when he came back with, "Somethin' on your mind, soldier?"

Zeb raised an eyebrow at the clone. "The rebellion ain't exactly an army. What makes you say that?"

"War was what I was bred for. Soldierin' was my life. Couldn't say how long it's been for you, but you never lose the attitude."

Well, he wasn't wrong about that. Though the former guardsman did try to downplay the ex-military thing often enough, he didn't doubt there was a part of him that would always be a soldier. On the subject of things he couldn't seem to lose, though...

"Weird question. Don't have to answer or anythin', but...do clones have soulmarks?"

Rex's eyes widened marginally at his words, but he didn't back away. Looking only mildly surprised to be asked, he nodded. "Matter of fact, some of us do."

"Some of you?"

"Yup. Jango Fett had one of course, but that wasn't somethin' the clonin' process could duplicate, so no clone was _born_ with a soulmark. But it looks like we're able to develop 'em with time."

"Develop?" Zeb pressed.

"Sure. Saw 'em just appear on some of my brothers outta the blue one day. I dunno if- anything ever _came_ of any of those marks, but...it _did_ happen."

"Any idea why?" Zeb pressed. The idea was strange to him – to not be fated from the moment of your birth. Was there...some sort of _choice_ they'd made? Had the _clone troopers_ , of all beings, somehow figured out how to choose their own destiny?

"Nope. Couldn't tell you. Mine appeared when-"

" _You've_ got one?"

"Sure do. It appeared after I met one of my brothers who'd...made a decision to walk away from the army," Rex explained as he removed his chest armor, setting it aside and pulling down the neckline of his black undershirt to reveal a simple line of shimmering blue text across an old blaster wound at the center of his chest.

'Had to happen sometime, Rex.'

"And...have you...?" Zeb tried to ask, fairly certain he didn't know the clone well enough to comfortably ask such questions.

"Not yet, no," the clone answered with a long-suffering sigh as he allowed the undershirt to slip back into place. "And I don't suppose there's a lot a' time for it now. Guess I feel a little bit sorry for whatever person's carryin' a mark for _me_ , but...mostly I'd say I'm just happy I was able to earn it."

"Is that what you think happened?"

"Sometimes...though I don't really _know_. Cut and I had some conversations about choice and fate and freedom...fair few things I'd never really considered before. Though I didn't _think_ much different when I made it back to my unit, I...I _was_ different. I was lookin' at things with new eyes. And then I woke up one mornin' and had these beautiful letters shinin' back at me from the mirror. I know people these days talk about how it's bad to cling to a soulmark, how it takes your choice away from you, but...well...I know a little somethin' about choice," he said as he retrieved his armor, holding it in his hands for a few moments before putting it back on. "I like to think...that it's the fate of _all_ sentient beings to love, no matter what form that love takes. Soulmarks don't really tell us anything we don't already know. They're just a- nice little reminder that no one's ever _really_ on their own. And if the universe is nice enough to give us a nudge to where we can best spend our love, well...that's not nothin'."

Zeb stared at the clone oddly for several moments, amazed that he'd gotten so much out of him in such a short time. He really didn't know what he'd been expecting when he'd brought up the subject of soulmates with Rex. Maybe he'd just been looking to get _something_ off his chest. Didn't matter how. Either way, the old soldier had introduced some concepts that had never occurred to him. Maybe it wasn't about them being tied together, more about...trying to help each other?

 _But what help would_ _ **he**_ _accept from_ _ **me?**_

When Zeb didn't respond right away, Rex seemed to notice the odd look in his eyes. Laughing quietly, he shook his head. "Listen to me. Goin' on like an old timer. That was probably more than you signed on for. Why is it you've got soul bonds on your mind?"

Zeb shuddered as he levered himself away from the wall. "That's...it's complicated."

It became no less complicated as events unfolded on Seelos. Zeb didn't have a chance to find out if Kallus would hesitate again, as they didn't come face to face this particular time around. Still, the Lasat couldn't help thinking about Rex's words when they brought him back to Ahsoka. Though he maintained decorum, he was clearly happy to see her. And then they'd greeted each other.

"You got old."

"Had to happen sometime, Rex."

Rex was facing away from them, so Zeb couldn't see his expression upon hearing the words, but he _could_ see the way the old trooper's shoulders tensed at the sound of them. And whatever look the clone captain offered her, Ahsoka Tano's face broke into a tender, understanding smile.

Rex gave a sound that was caught somewhere between a laugh and a sob as the former Jedi threw her arms around him. He returned the embrace just as tightly, holding Ahsoka as if he'd never let her go.

"It's _you_ ," Rex cried out softly against one of her montrals. "It's you. It was you _all along._ "

"I waited," she returned, her face briefly buried in the crook of his neck. "I waited so long."

Though Zeb suddenly felt like he was intruding on a private moment, he couldn't quite help but be reminded of Ash and Chala – of how happy they had been, how in love. For the longest time, color had brought him nothing but pain, but as he watched the pair reunite after so long, he couldn't help but notice another regained color rippling just at the edges of his vision. Glancing down at his hands, he found it was his own fur.

Purple.

And, for the first time in _so long_ , Zeb actually smiled to see himself.

XxX

If he had to guess, Zeb would say he'd regained about fifty percent of his color vision when he and Kallus clashed in the upper atmosphere of Geonosis. As such, it was almost strange to him to see the near infinite field of white stretching out before them as they came crashing to the surface of the nearby ice moon.

Snow was white, it seemed. Might always be white.

When he regained consciousness after the crash, it was to see Kallus lying across the escape pod from him, still knocked out. It must've been some color quality of the emergency light that he couldn't see, but the agent's coloring was off from what he remembered seeing aboard the construction module.

He had the color of the Imperial's skin now, and the dual color of his rank badge, though he knew the uniform would stay gray. With Kallus still out of commission and his own brain running at only half power, he found himself taking a moment to just look at the agent, as he never had before. In sleep, there was an almost peaceful quality to his face, an expression that half made the Lasat wonder if their previous strife had only been something in his head. Was this really the Imperial _creature_ from his nightmares?

He knew from crawls through Nar Shaddaa's brothel and club districts that Kallus was most assuredly 'his type', but he'd never much allowed himself to consider it with the strangely nebulous divide that lay between them. One moment it seemed too far a star system to even _think_ about crossing, and the next he found himself wondering...what if...

 _What if you and I had just_ _ **met?**_ _In a star port somewhere or on a street one day. No Empire, no rebellion, no war...no Lasan. Just you and me. Could we...could we have..._

He was so lost in his thoughts, he didn't at first notice that Kallus was awake.

The Imperial blinked up at him in a daze, as if coming out of a very deep sleep, and- okay, maybe he really _was_ dreaming, because the corners of the human's mouth lifted in a smile. But then a twinge of old sorrow twisted something in those amber eyes and his look was one of sadness and regret.

"This is a dream," he said softly, his voice heavy with heartbreak.

"Not a bad dream, then," the Lasat returned just as softly, actually reaching across the space between them to touch his partner's face for the first time instead of punching it.

Kallus sighed faintly, leaning into the touch, and if Zeb didn't know better, he would say that was a tear threatening to fall from the corner of his eye.

" _Why?_ " the agent finally asked aloud, giving voice to the most painful question either of them had ever had.

But then, almost the _instant_ Zeb regained red, sending the world into a suddenly violent and bloody hue, both of them realized that it was no dream.

Jerking back from each other, they both reached for their weapons, with Zeb being just a little bit faster, though his fighting instinct was quickly dulled by the sound of Kallus' cry of pain. Even though he'd clearly broken his leg in the crash, the Imperial still managed to glare defiantly up at him. Holding him at riflepoint for a few moments longer, the Lasat finally sighed in frustration, allowing the bo-rifle to drop.

"Who am I foolin'?" he ground out bitterly. "I'm not gonna kill you."

"More fool you, then," Kallus snapped, glaring at him sideways, though the look quickly devolved into pain when he attempted to move his leg. But on the heels of that pain was a look of resignation. "And more fool I. I _should_ have killed you...long ago."

"But you just can't bring yourself to do it," Zeb finished, understanding the feeling exactly. "Because you might be _scum_ , but-"

"-but what will _I_ be...if I kill you?" Kallus asked the question for both of them, pulling in on himself, withdrawing as far from Zeb as the pod would allow.

"So," Zeb started, hardly noticing the cold beginning to seep into the super-heated pod, "we finally gonna talk about this?"

"Talk about _what?_ " Kallus snarled, the glare he offered up painfully _nasty._ "What's there to talk about? The fact that we were tied together by some sort of _destiny_ before we were even _born?_ That _we_ had no say in any of this? That I lived my life _waiting_ to hear those words, sometimes _only_ staying alive because I _hadn't_ heard them, and when I finally did, it was _you!_ "

"What? A piece of rebel _scum?_ " Zeb demanded bitterly, not wanting to look at the agent, but not wholly able to help it, either.

" _No,_ " Kallus hissed right back. "You wouldn't- you couldn't _possibly_ understand! Someone I- someone I could never...never in a million _years_ -"

Letting out a snarl of anger, Zeb seized the agent's shoulders and shoved him against the wall of the pod, pinning him there. "You think I'm _happy_ about it? Gettin' color from a man who helped carry out the _mass murder_ of my _people?_ How do you think it makes _me feel?!_ Huh?! _WHY'D IT HAVE TO BE YOU?!_ " he roared, bodily lifting the Imperial and throwing him from the pod. When he shamefacedly emerged from it a moment later, his ears were flat against his skull in misery. "Why the _kriff_ did it have to be you?"

For several moments, Kallus just lay where he'd thrown him, laughing bitterly up at the cave mouth far overhead. When he finally fell silent, it was with that same look of resignation.

"I didn't ask for this," he said as he slowly sat up. "I didn't ask for this anymore than you did, so I would appreciate it if you didn't blame me. I truly don't see what more there is to discuss. Will it change anything between us?"

"Probably not, but it'll give us somethin' to do while we wait for a pickup," he pointed out as he climbed from the pod with their bo-rifles and a generator, setting the little unit up at Kallus' feet.

The laugh the Imperial gave at that one could be described as cynical at best and sinister at worst. Shaking his head, he sneered at him across the flickering light of the generator. "You're expecting your rebel friends to come to your rescue? Your friends _fled._ If anyone finds us, it'll be the Empire, and _you_ will be _captured,_ " he snipped, his tone indicating to Zeb that he really wasn't sure how to feel about that.

Zeb shook his head, fixing the Imperial with a long stare before getting back to his feet. "That's not gonna happen," he said before heading back to the pod. He didn't imagine Kallus could ignore the fact that he'd left his bo-rifle at his side.

"It'll be night soon," he heard the agent saying as he dug around for one last thing.

"Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark," he called over his shoulder, alleviating the tension the only way he knew how when fighting wasn't an option – levity.

"It's not just going to get dark," Kallus pointed out. "It's going to get colder. Too cold for _this_ to keep us warm," he finished, nodding down at the generator when Zeb turned to properly look back at him.

Zeb chuckled darkly. "And here I thought Geonosis was a desert planet."

Kallus' own laugh was bitter and humorless as he nodded up at the giant red planet in the sky high above them. " _That_ is Geonosis. _We_ are on one of its _moons._ "

Zeb rolled his eyes. "Oh, get a sense of humor, agent," he bit out before going back to his search, finally coming up with the pod's slightly damaged transponder. When he emerged from the pod, the expression on Kallus' face became just a touch less totally defeated.

"The transponder...probably damaged in the crash," he said, almost more to himself. "If you can repair it, reactivate its signal, maybe the Empire will find us _before_ we freeze."

Before Zeb could respond either way, a very unsettling growl sounded from somewhere farther off in the cave. Both of them tracked the sound, but nothing emerged from the direction it had come from. When they looked back at each other, Kallus couldn't seem to help adding, "Or worse."

Zeb glared at the human a moment before unslinging his bo-rifle. "I'll take my chances with the cold...and whatever we're sharin' this hole with. I _know_ what happens to Lasat in an Imperial prison," he growled before heading off to check the perimeter for further danger.

"You don't know much," Kallus called after him, and was it Zeb's imagination or did he sound almost desperate? Like he _needed_ to believe that? "Cooperate, and you will get a trial."

"Heh, right," he said with the same dark chuckle. Was he _really_ this naive?

His attention was quickly drawn away from the Imperial by a fresh round of distant growls. Still nothing in sight, but that could change.

"You'd better decide. Soon," Kallus ground out.

"Dunno what makes you think I haven't," Zeb said as he finally returned to their makeshift encampment. "I'm _not_ bowin' to your Empire, Kallus, so you can forget all your talk about cooperatin'. Either I'm leavin' with my friends or not at all," he said, settling himself across from the agent, the generator between them as he worked on the transponder.

Kallus gave a sound that was caught somewhere between a sigh and a groan, holding his hands out to the generator as he watched Zeb work. "How is it that a member of the High Honor Guard could fall in with such a _disreputable_ lot?" he wondered, voice thick with distaste.

Zeb wasn't sure if the agent actually expected him to answer that question or not, but he certainly wasn't going to leave _that_ one lying.

"And what do _you_ know about the High Honor Guard? Aside from the fact that you've got a _bit_ of a talent for killin' its members?" he growled, struggling not to break the fragile components he held with the strength of his angry grip.

Kallus' expression looked stricken at that. It then twisted into something that was a mix of sorrow and anger.

"What do _I_ know?" he repeated, plainly insulted. "What do _I know_ about the Lasan High Honor Guard? When I have known the name since before I can remember? When it has been bound into my skin from the moment of my _birth?_ When I have studied everything it was possible for me to learn about Lasat warrior culture? When I have lived my days in fear of the _rage_ contained within my mark? Do you even _remember_ the first thing you said to me?" Kallus demanded, a defeated, angry, self-loathing fire in his amber eyes that left Zeb once again wondering which Kallus this was – the Imperial agent? Or the man he'd seen upon waking...the one who longed for the dream? But, forced to reply, Zeb finally grunted into the frosty silence.

"Course I do, because I _knew_ that whatever those words were would be your soulmark. I didn't _want_ to hate you for what you'd done, but I couldn't just let it go, either. You got an awful lot a' marks against you for somebody who supposedly respects my people _so much_ ," he snapped, barely resisting the urge to stand, to tower over the injured Imperial. He felt certain that if Kallus _could've_ been standing, then he would have, because even though he was shivering, the fire still in his eyes said that the encroaching cold was _far_ from his soul.

"Oh? So you think you can stand as judge, jury, and executioner for my crimes? I've done terrible things, I have no illusions about that, but they _had_ to be done. You _don't know me_. You don't know _why_ I made the choices I did. You _weren't there_. So don't _presume_ that you can dismiss me so easily. You have every right to hate me; I know that, but don't pretend like you _understand._ It is impossible to understand your enemy as well as you ever _think_ you do," he finished, the fire suddenly bleeding out of him, leaving him to half-collapse in upon himself. As he wrapped his arms around himself, his shivering intensifying, his eyes seemed to drain of their fervor, gazing into the weak light of the generator with an emptiness that Zeb knew only too well.

The sudden and complete nature of the agent's withdrawal left Zeb half-wanting to reach out and touch him, to comfort him in some way, because in spite of _everything_ , he still _cared_ about him, still cared what happened to him. Whatever their fate was, they still shaped each others' future in some way. But that small clench of worry and sympathy was still largely held in the grip of the more than decade-old scars that still marred his heart. As such, he was able to keep himself in check while he continued to work on the transponder, struggling to recall why it was those last few words had sounded so familiar to him. Night had mostly fallen by the time he'd finished his work.

"There. Fixed it. And I adjusted the frequency. Now anyone can pick up its signal."

"So...maybe you won't be captured today," Kallus said faintly, slowly bringing himself back from whatever void he'd fallen into. "But the Empire _will win._ Every day we recruit more informers. Every day we _persuade_ rebel sympathizers to reconsider their allegiances," he said, and once again, the tone of his voice was more telling than his actual words. He spoke the words as if he _needed_ to believe them, as if he couldn't let himself think otherwise. Maybe the agent wasn't as naive as he'd first thought.

Glaring pointedly at the human across the rapidly dimming glow of the generator, Zeb shook his head as he rubbed his hands together, only just beginning to feel the cold in the pads of his fingers. "And _every day_ , more beings get fed up with the Empire and join us."

The Imperial couldn't quite seem to muster his earlier anger. All he could manage was an exhausted look of exasperation just as the generator gave one last feeble flicker and died. Kallus sighed, shivering in the cold dark of the cave.

"It's- power cell is- f- frozen...and we'll be next."

Zeb rolled his eyes but, in all honesty, he wasn't quite sure what to say to that level of hopelessness. Before he really had to come up with anything, though, his more sensitive eyes picked out a source of light from somewhere behind them in the cave.

"W- where are you going?" Kallus asked him as he got to his feet, heading toward the odd source of golden light. "What are you doing over there?"

When the Lasat finally managed to pick out the source of the glow, he found it coming from a strange little lump of rock nestled in a small crater.

"Huh. It's warm," he noted upon placing his fingers against it, making sure it wouldn't be _too_ hot to the touch before properly lifting it from its resting place.

"What did you find?" Kallus asked him as he headed back. "Wha- what is that?"

"Dunno," he said with a shrug as he held it out to the agent, "but it's warm, and it throws light."

"Probably- some kind of- meteorite," Kallus mumbled through a painful shiver, seeming smaller than ever in the misery of the cold. Again, Zeb sighed, realizing that the agent didn't get that he was offering the bit of rock to him.

"Here," he said before tossing it into the man's lap. "Warm yourself up."

Kallus looked up at him for a moment in numb surprise before finally taking the little meteorite in his hands, his shivering easing only mildly. For a long while, they just stared at each other, but the moment was interrupted by yet another growl from somewhere far out in the cave network. Zeb aimed his rifle at the darkness once again, but still nothing emerged.

"You really think we'll survive- whatever _that_ is in there?" Kallus wondered, his words once again saying one thing while his tone said another. His words said he wanted to live, but his tone...well, Zeb didn't know when he'd heard someone who was _less_ keen on living than this human was right now. "Plus, the temperature's dropping and our only heat source is this _thing,_ and who knows how long it'll last? Maybe...it would be _better_ to die here," he suggested with another painful-looking shiver, hugging the meteorite against his chest with a strangely despairing look in his eyes.

 _Don't do that,_ Zeb wanted to scold him, his supposed partner's despair beginning to creep in on him. _Don't just give up before you've even tried._

And with that tiny thought, his own approach started to become clearer to him through his hypocrisy.

 _Don't give up on_ _ **him**_ _before you've even_ _ **tried**_ _to connect._

He wasn't sure how he felt about seeing it, but he _knew_ that there was something in this man that was worth saving. If only he could bring that something out into the light...

"You're so quick to give up hope," he said instead, still with no idea how to approach this thing between them. "Like I said, the transponder's workin'. My friends _will_ find us."

"The transponder's signal will _never_ get through the ice," Kallus pointed out with a small glare.

Zeb sighed. Ashla, but this human wasn't going to be easy to save...but _damned_ if he wasn't going to try. "Yeah, you're probably right. But Lasat never know when to give up. Remember? I'll just climb this up to the surface. Simple," he muttered before heading off to tackle the icy walls of their little prison. This went about as well as could be expected.

"You're going to hurt yourself!" Kallus scolded him after his third fall from the stubborn cave ceiling, and though he was beginning to feel those falls, he was still as bordok-headed as ever.

"Will you just _shut up!_ " he snarled at the Imperial, glancing over to see that he'd pulled himself to his feet, making a feeble attempt to walk toward him. That was no good. He was just going to hurt himself worse. Drive renewed, Zeb took another crack at the wall – only to wind up on his back on the cave floor yet again. Growling in frustration, he pulled himself back up, ready to have another go – only to hear an entirely different growl coming from behind him.

The horror in Kallus' amber eyes told him everything he needed to know before he'd even turned around, but it was no less of a shock to see the massive beast emerging from the darkness of the tunnel, sharp teeth glistening and the stench of its foul breath reeking on the cold air.

Rolling his eyes, Zeb muttered, "Like this day couldn't get any better," just in time for the animal to let out a monstrous roar right in his face.

Not giving it the chance to pick him off, he scrambled off in the opposite direction of the beast's path, leading it away from Kallus. Giving it the opportunity to get almost on top of him before making his move, it was well within his sights when he unslung his bo-rifle, unleashing several rounds of searing plasma into the creature's face before diving for cover.

This game of mutant cat and oversized mouse continued for several minutes before Zeb managed to scramble into the escape pod, ducking as low as he possibly could, hoping the monster wasn't dexterous enough to reach in and grab him. He wasn't really sure how long he could keep this up.

But then he was almost surprised to hear the sound of rifle fire from overhead, and when he looked up, it was to see the intense red-orange burst of plasma bolts striking the creature's thick hide. Emerging from the pod, he caught sight of Kallus attempting to draw the animal's attention. The move left the former guardsman with just enough time to rejoin the fray, adding his own fire to Kallus' volleys just in time to keep the beast from devouring the Imperial. Together, they managed to drive it back down the tunnel.

"Karabast," he growled, breathing heavily as he glanced over at the agent. "What was that?" he asked, unable to come up with anything better.

"Don't know," Kallus returned, his own breathing just as ragged as he slowly allowed his weapon to drop to his side, unable to aim any longer, though he did still keep his attention on that dangerous swatch of darkness. "But it's probably going to come back."

"Yeah," he agreed, keeping his own weapon trained on the darkness, though his gaze kept flicking between it and the rapidly degenerating Imperial. Kallus' skin was even paler than normal and, even in the cold, it was streaked with sweat. Likely, he wouldn't be able to withstand another attack. He would need to get them both out of here. Soon. "And it's probably gonna bring its friends."

"That...that _is_ the order of things," Kallus mumbled, eyes blinking rapidly before he suddenly lost his footing altogether and began to tumble sideways.

Grunting in surprise, Zeb quickly moved in to catch him before he could fall. Holding him tightly against his side, he helped the Imperial limp back toward their small encampment, helping him to sit beside the escape pod. Kallus couldn't seem to help the small groan of pain he gave as he leaned back against a tumble of rocks dislodged by the pod's sudden crash. Probably that leg was worse off than either of them had first assumed.

"My...my bo-rifle..." the agent pleaded faintly, reaching a hand out to where he'd dropped the weapon before, and if Zeb could understand nothing else, he could _certainly_ understand the need not to be separated from one's bo-rifle. So he went to retrieve the fallen weapon, holding it close against his chest as he brought it back to Kallus, but he didn't hand it back to him right away. For several moments, he just crouched across from the downed Imperial, staring at him. The agent returned the stare for several minutes before another pained groan overtook him.

"Why...why are you helping me?" he asked after a time, frame shaking with cold and with pain. "You _shouldn't_ help me. If anyone has a right to my life, it's you. And it- it's as I was _trying_ to say...the strong survive...and the weak perish."

"Is that what happened on Geonosis?" Zeb responded with his own question instead of answering his, maintaining eye contact with him as he set the bo-rifle to the side, reaching instead for the meteorite and crawling across the small space to press it against the other man's chest. "The weak needed to perish?"

"The only thing I know about Geonosis is that the population is gone," the Imperial said, his voice fading a little more with each word as he looked down at the small chunk of rock resting upon his breast. "I never asked questions."

"Maybe you should start. Or are you afraid of the answers you'll get?" he pressed, seeing by the man's increasingly unguarded face that he was asking the exact questions Kallus had been avoiding asking himself. "Afraid you'll learn the Geonosians were wiped out by your _precious Empire?_ "

"Why would we _do_ that?" Kallus asked, still just looking at the meteorite as he clutched it against his chest. "What could _possibly_ be the _point?_ "

"Good questions," Zeb said, trying to keep his voice soft, seeing plainly how close to shattering the agent was. "Chase the answers and maybe you'll learn the truth."

"I don't need to know the truth," he tried to insist, clenching his eyes tightly shut as his fingers dug into the meteorite. "I only need to do what needs to be done. I don't matter. No one life matters. The only thing that matters is the good of the all."

Well, that was more than a little kriffed up. Rather than phrase it like that, though, Zeb approached the topic in a more roundabout way.

"Why is it the Empire hates soulmarks?"

Kallus sighed, steeling himself before opening his eyes to look up at Zeb. "They don't _hate soulmarks_. It's more complicated than that."

"Love is complicated?" Zeb asked, needing to add nothing more to his voice to make plain what he thought. The statement was scornful enough without help.

"That _isn't_ what I meant," he insisted. " _Fate_ is complicated. I understand- Lasan was never part of the Republic, so you can't know what it was like, but...near the end...the system was disgustingly corrupt. The only way to start all over again...was to burn away what had once been and begin anew from the ashes. That included the belief in soulmarks. It was better to do away with the mysticism, with a destiny that one had no control over. It became Imperial policy to treat them as nothing more than birthmarks."

"And I think callin' 'em that is to miss the point of what they are...of what _love_ is. You're basically sellin' yourself to an order that says it's better not to love," he snarled, taking up Kallus' bo-rifle and reconfiguring it in staff mode without giving the agent a chance to respond. He examined it a moment before continuing with a different topic – something that continued to nag at his heart and mind and wouldn't be easily laid to rest. "I see you've modified it for close quarters fighting," he noted, because indeed, Kallus would've had to, given the raw strength of a Lasat in close quarters. His weapon would need to be able to take more punishment than an average bo-rifle. "Impressive. But _you_ shouldn't have it. It's not a trophy. Now hold still," he warned him as he aligned the staff with Kallus' leg, using a small roll of bandage from the pod's emergency kit to bind it to the broken limb as a makeshift splint. It was a bit more of a struggle than he would readily admit for him to ignore the agent's strangled cries of pain. When he'd finally finished, Kallus looked up at him with something not wholly definable in his eyes. It was a look that was somewhere between hurt and guilt.

"I didn't take it as a _trophy_ ," he said, the last word clearly leaving a disgusting taste on his tongue. "The Guardsman I faced, he...fought well...died with honor. He _gave_ me the rifle...before..."

"The _Boosahn Keeraw_ ," Zeb said quietly, looking away from the Imperial.

"Yes," Kallus returned just as quietly, an almost reverent tone in his voice. He understood what it meant, then. And when Zeb looked back at him, it was to see as much in his now-familiar amber eyes. "I imagine you can see where I would've been reticent to accept it, given the words upon my arm, but I could do nothing less than honor the old warrior's choice...even though I _knew_ how I would one day be despised for it. I was...I was only doing my duty...that day. It was...nothing personal," he said, though the tiny kernel of anguish in his face as he looked away said that it had since _become_ personal.

Again, Zeb sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot today. He was afraid he really _was_ beginning to understand and, while that was the goal, part of him also didn't know how to deal with that. "Yeah...well...what the Empire did on Lasan...I'll never forget it."

"We _all_ have things we won't forget," Kallus said, using the side of the pod to pull himself back to his feet. For a moment, he weaved on them and Zeb briefly wondered if he would need to catch him again, but the agent managed to keep his feet, keeping himself carefully positioned against the pod.

Before he spoke again, Zeb noticed a fresh look of unguarded _pain_ on the man's face – a pain that was different from the guilt he carried with him. "I remember my first unit. The boys and I were deployed to Onderon...to bring peace and security to a troubled world. We were on a routine patrol, and ran into one of your rebel friends...a Lasat mercenary who worked for Saw Gerrera. I- was lucky...knocked out by the first blast," he recounted, his gaze distant. "I...came to...but found I couldn't move. And then I saw... _him_ ," he said with a pained swallow, each breath shuddering as he struggled to get everything out, "the Lasat calmly walk through smoke and fire to finish my unit off...one by one. The injured never had a chance...and then he...had the _gall_ to attempt to bare my mark," he said, eyes squeezing shut against the pain of the memory.

"What?" Zeb asked, fighting the urge to get back to his feet. What was Kallus trying to say to him? Lasat didn't care about soulmarks. Such a thing would've meant nothing to this mercenary. So why would he-

"He...carried a bo-rifle. I don't know if he- truly was Honor Guard at some point...or if he'd merely stolen the rifle from a guardsman...but I accused him on the _shame_ of what he'd done to my men. And he asked me...how I knew. I didn't- tell him, but he figured my soulmark out on his own. About tore me to pieces trying to locate it...just to be able to laugh in my face. He...he may have... _no_ ," Kallus stopped himself, shuddering as he leaned heavily against the pod. "Doesn't matter. What's done is done."

Zeb _thought_ he understood what it was Kallus was trying to tell him, and even though he knew he had no right to think of the man in that way (not yet, at least), he couldn't entirely help the sudden surge of primitive hindbrain _jealousy_ that flooded his system at the thought of another Lasat touching _his partner._ Even so, such thoughts were not his right. Shaking his head, he returned his focus to the human, whose own focus was wavering dangerously.

"Well, you can't judge all rebels as the same," he tried to argue.

Kallus eyed him dully for a moment before asking with a mirthless smile, "Does that sentiment also apply to _Imperials?_ "

Zeb shrugged, growling faintly as he unslung his weapon once more. "The Imperials _I_ know."

The agent's gaze shifted between Zeb's face and his bo-rifle for several moments before understanding began to solidify in his clouded eyes. Making sure he was still well-balanced, he held out a hand for the bo-rifle. "I'll take that for you. For the climb."

Zeb found himself strangely but pleasantly warmed by the human's offer. Mostly because there had been no questioning of the fact that they were leaving together. It was a foregone conclusion. Either way, though, it wasn't an offer he felt comfortable accepting.

"No way you can keep hold of the rifle _and_ me at the same time. We'll get it when we reach the top," he said before tossing the bo-rifle up and out of the cave, followed in short order by the meteorite and the transponder. Then he held out a hand to Kallus. "Time to go."

Kallus eyed the offered hand only a moment before accepting it, letting Zeb help him climb up onto his back. The Lasat made certain the Imperial was secure before starting off toward one of the walls.

"Hold it!" Kallus warned him before he could go too far. "Don't climb the walls. Go _up_ the pillars."

"What?" Zeb returned incredulously. "The pillars'll never hold my weight. Never mind yours added on."

"They hold up this _cave_ , don't they?" Kallus pointed out.

Zeb rolled his eyes, ready to protest, but then a fresh growl sounded from one of the tunnels. They were out of time and out of options. "If you're wrong, I'm feedin' you to that thing."

"Fair enough," Kallus conceded.

Zeb wasted no time in launching himself at the pillar nearest the cave opening, feeling it wanting to give way beneath them almost immediately.

"This- is a terrible idea," he grunted as his claws scrabbled at the icy surface, struggling to hold them both aloft.

"Just _climb_ ," the Imperial agent urged anxiously.

Somehow the pillar continued to hold, but that wasn't of much comfort when _two_ beasts emerged from the cave tunnels.

"There. Are. Two of them!" Kallus ground out in frustration, as if it weren't already apparent.

"Karabast!" Zeb snarled.

"Karabast! _Karabast!_ What does that even _mean?_ " he demanded, with apparently nothing better to ask in this life or death situation.

"Right now- it means you're a _lot_ heavier than you look!" Zeb snapped, somehow managing to grab hold of one of the icy stalactites hanging from the ceiling. He kept his hold, but one of the creatures managed to get a nip at Kallus' leg, pulling him off of Zeb's back.

" _NO!_ " Zeb shouted, just barely managing to grab ahold of him with his foot before one of the animals could snap him up. Swinging back and forth to keep the helpless human out of their reach, an idea started to take shape in his mind.

"Hold still!" he snarled down at the agent in warning, then more quietly, "And hope this works."

"Hope? Hope _what_ works?" the Imperial demanded, voice little more than a shade above panicking.

Deploying the modified bayonet of Kallus' rifle with a single toe, Zeb swung him back far enough to get in a good bit of leverage, ignoring Kallus' agonized cries as he pitched him those last few meters, bayonet burying itself in the ice with the force of his throw. Zeb took a precious moment to laugh at their victory, but then he was slipping from the stalactite once again and there was nowhere for him to go but onto the head of one of the creatures. Was that a kriffing _third one_ even?

For several moments, he leapt from beast to beast, confusing them and avoiding their sharp teeth, all while hearing Kallus' desperate, fearful cries as the bayonet slowly began to slip free. Then, at the last possible moment, Zeb made a leap to wind up directly beneath the Imperial, catching him in his arms and heaving him up and out of the cave. When he leapt up after him, though, the distance proved just a little too great for him to cover in a single movement. Just barely managing to cling to the lip of the cave mouth, he saw Kallus appear from the blinding white of the snow storm with his bo-rifle in hand. As unsteady as the agent was, he had a moment – just a moment – in which to wonder if he was accidentally going to shoot him. But that fear was laid to rest when the brilliant red orange bolt passed by his head to strike the creature that had been making a grab for him. Offering him a hand up, Kallus helped him scramble up out of the cave, though he was soon leaning against him once more, barely holding himself upright.

"Better activate the transponder," Kallus said as Zeb slung his bo-rifle back on his shoulders. "It's a lot colder up here. We won't last long."

"Yeah," Zeb agreed, not pointing out that Kallus himself likely had even less time, with his injury, "but I think I'd rather freeze than be eaten."

So, with Zeb gripping the transponder and Kallus holding the meteorite, the pair struck out into the storm in search of some cover. After a time, though, Zeb heard the agent's weakened voice calling out to him.

"Before...what did you mean...before?" Kallus asked him, voice weighted down by exhaustion.

"When?"

"What you said...about not understanding what soulmarks are."

"Now? You wanna have this conversation _now?_ " Zeb grunted, though he was starting to think he'd take any excuse to help keep the man's mind active.

"There may never be another time," he admitted, letting the former guardsman know that he was aware exactly how close to gone he was. "So what _don't_ I understand?"

"People make out like you've got no choice in the matter. That's not true. You can ignore it just as easy...ignore a sign from the universe. I did for the longest time. But somebody I respect told me that it's the fate of _all_ beings to love, no matter how it is you best spend that love. Destiny's not tellin' you anything you don't already know. Maybe just...givin' you a little push in the right direction. Dunno how it is for you guys in the thick of it, but the way the rest of us experience this so-called _freedom_ is that...the Empire's basically tellin' us all that it's bad to love, bad to connect with others. Bit of a strange thing for a regime that's supposedly got the greater good in mind to spout."

"I...I'd never thought of it that way," Kallus mumbled weakly as Zeb dragged them both under the cover of a rocky overhang, helping Kallus to sit against the rock face with the meteorite in hand before starting to fiddle with the transponder one last time. "I...stood behind so much of the new ideology...it never occurred to me they might be wrong about that."

"'s never good to go 'round not askin' questions, mate," Zeb told him, giving his last adjustments to the transponder's signal.

"Let's- hope it works," Kallus said faintly. "Of course, since you- adjusted it...we don't know who'll pick up its signal."

"Guess all we can do is wait. At least we've got this to keep us warm," he said, nodding down at the glowing rock in the agent's hands as he moved in to sit beside him, offering up his own body heat. He was only just beginning to feel the cold himself, while Kallus had been suffering from it for much longer.

"Still think your friends will find you?" the agent asked him as he tentatively leaned into him. Zeb half wondered if he was aware of what he was doing. Nodding, he wrapped an arm around the man's shivering shoulders.

"Unless the Empire gets here first."

They remained like that for several more minutes, just sharing heat between them and the meteorite, but eventually, Kallus pulled away from him, looking up at him with something like regret in his eyes.

"On- Lasan...it- it wasn't _supposed_ to be a massacre...but- I realize now- the Empire wanted to make an example. I know before...I took credit for it. I was only-"

Zeb silenced his protests with a small shake of his head and what he hoped was a reassuring look. "What happened on Lasan...it's over for me. I've moved on," he said. Even if it wasn't the whole truth, it was what Kallus needed to hear right now...to keep going, to _stay alive._ "By the way...it's Zeb... my name. It's Zeb."

"Short for Garazeb," he said with a vaguely happy look. "I know."

Zeb returned the look with a small smile of his own. Kallus' smile grew a little wider before he was suddenly asking, "Would you- like to know mine?"

Zeb nodded, feeling his own smile grow.

"Alexsandr. My name is Alexsandr."

"Heh. Well, that's not so bad. Least it's not somethin' terrible like Armitage or Brom or any of those high tone Core names. Guess I've finally got a proper name to go with all these ridiculous colors. Just got red back today," he said, starting to pull the human back into his arms.

Kallus resisted his pull, though, looking up at him in confusion. "Red...back?"

Oh. Right. He didn't know.

"When I first- got color...I could see the whole spread. But those colors faded away with time...until all I had left was the color of your eyes," he said, starting to reach a hand up to touch the agent's face, but thinking better of it. "But...ever since that first fight on Lothal, the colors have been comin' back. I got red back today."

"I- can't imagine why that would happen, but I'm sorry for it. That must have been a drastic shift to go through in only a few years."

"A few...what do you mean?"

"The first time you saw me...it was that time I captured the Bridger boy. Wasn't it?"

Okay, they were having two different conversations here. "It- Kallus, I've been able to see color since Lasan."

At first, Kallus just looked uncomprehending, like he hadn't heard the words properly. But then his amber eyes widened in horror as the realization washed over him.

"Oh...oh, stars, you...the first time you saw me was-"

" _That_ day," Zeb confirmed with a nod. "Saw you comin' in from the city below...just before that last cluster of bombs went off. I looked into your eyes...and the whole world just _burst_ out from 'em like its own kind of bomb. I'd never- seen anythin' quite like it before. Always tried to get people to explain it to me when I was a kit, but...you _can't_ explain it...not really...not to somebody who doesn't _know._ And even with the world endin' around me, it...it was also just beginnin' again," he tried to explain.

"Stars... _stars_ ," Kallus groaned despairingly, head dropping into his hands. "How can I...it's...how could you _ever_ -"

"Hey, calm down," Zeb tried to soothe him, drawing the man into his arms before he had the chance to pull away entirely. "It...that's over for me, too. I worked through it a while back...mostly."

Kallus didn't seem to have anything to say to that and, after a time, Zeb realized it was because he was crying – actually _crying._ Fearing that he was only letting his guard so far down because he was beginning to succumb to the pain and the cold, Zeb held him all the closer, not really sure what else to do.

 _Come on, you. Don't quit on me. You've been stubborn enough this far. Don't check out on me before I really have the chance to know you._

"Zeb?" Kallus began hesitantly a time later, his voice only somewhat less unsteady.

"Hmm?"

"I think- perhaps you misunderstood what I meant to say when all of this started. I'm sure you- thought I'd meant to say that you were someone I could never be with...someone I could never love," he said, clinging to Zeb as he struggled to get the words out.

"Somethin' like that, yeah," the Lasat conceded, returning the embrace for all he was worth.

"That isn't it at all. What I had _meant_ to say...what the _truth_ is...is that you're someone I can never be _worthy_ of. What I've done to you is unforgivable...and I accepted that the day my mark faded. I could live a thousand years and still never earn your love or your forgiveness. Heh...fitting punishment for my sins, is it not," he said, trying to laugh as he looked up at Zeb, but ultimately failing when the tears started to flow again, forcing him to raise a hand to cover his eyes. It was clearly a painful struggle for him to get the last of his words out. "I never- turned- my back on you...G-Garazeb. I _gave you up!_ " he hissed, little resisting when Zeb drew his head down to rest against his chest again. His last sentence was barely audible, but what Zeb thought he heard was, "You deserve so much better."

Kallus cried until he couldn't cry anymore, until he fell asleep in Zeb's arms, and though the Lasat did his best to wake him, nothing he did seemed able to call the Imperial from his exhausted sleep. Terrified that the man would slip away from him in the night, he didn't allow himself to sleep a wink. He held Kallus in his arms, keeping the warmth of the meteorite carefully pinned between their bodies. He continued to rub at his arms, sharing heat with him in any way he could think of, sometimes even wondering if he might have to resort to truly drastic measures.

"Kallus...Alexsandr," he started sometime later, not sure if he even _wanted_ the agent to be able to hear him or not. "Please...don't go. I can't- lose you, too. Please...stay alive. Stay alive."

 _Stay alive. Stay alive. Stay alive._


	3. If Our Love's Insanity

**When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest**

 _Chapter 3: If Our Love's Insanity_

The first thing Kallus became consciously aware of was heat – a thick, heady warmth that cradled his entire body, making him want to do nothing more than curl up and sink back into oblivion. All he could recall from before was cold and darkness, so this must surely be a dream – some manner of illusion to help him cope with his own death – and that thought was further compounded by the feel of soft fur against his skin.

Definitely a dream, then. A more favored one of his most secret fantasies – the dream of what it might be like to have a chance to _be_ with his partner, if the galaxy had turned out a little less cruel than it had.

"Zeb," he whispered tenderly into the warmth that enveloped him. If his last moment was this one, then he truly didn't mind dying.

"Still with me there, Kal?"

Blinking in confusion as the voice worked its way deeper into his awareness, Kallus started properly awake to find his head resting against a warm, furry, purple chest, and to find, for the second time, that it was no dream. Following the lines of the strong chest up to the face of its owner, he found himself looking into the luminous eyes of Garazeb Orrelios.

Gasping sharply, he jerked back from the Lasat involuntarily, finding that they'd both been sleeping beneath some fluffy green monstrosity of a blanket. Looking to the former guardsman, he found that the top half of his battle suit had been rolled down around his waist, leaving his chest bare.

"Whoa, hey, calm down," Zeb tried to placate him, holding up both his hands.

"I...wha- where...?" he struggled to ask without much success, relieved, at least, to see that his own state of undress was much more mild, with only his boots, gloves, and cuirass removed and his uniform jacket pushed open and undershirt shoved up so that their bare chests had been able to press together. The rational part of his brain supplied the simple fact that Zeb had only been sharing body heat with him, but the less than rational, well...that supplied _other_ thoughts – the feel of the Lasat's fur against his bare skin...the strong scent of him heavy on the air...

"I couldn't just leave you out there!" Zeb finally snapped, apparently mistaking the way he shuddered for some sort of panic attack. "You were really bad off. You would'a died. I _couldn't leave you,_ " he insisted.

"Where _are_ we?" Kallus finally asked, starting to look around the space. They'd been lying on a makeshift pallet in what appeared to be the crew compartment of some sort of shuttle.

"The _Phantom_. It's our ship's lander. I _told_ you my friends'de come."

"Heh, so you did," he said with a sigh. "Congratulations. So...what happens now?"

Zeb raised an eyebrow at him, looking like he was considering moving up off the pallet. "Well, I'm not- holdin' you against your will or anythin'. We're not attached to the _Ghost_ right now. We're on Geonosis."

"Geonosis?" he repeated faintly.

"Yeah. The others weren't exactly fond a' the idea of you bein' onboard, but we did save each other's necks back there. I told 'em I'd take care of ya. You just about froze to death out there, so...I wanted to make sure you were gonna pull through," Zeb said, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.

"Thank you," Kallus returned quietly, fingers absently fiddling with the loose hem of his jacket, a childhood habit he hadn't engaged in since before his academy days.

"Aw, karabast. Sorry if I made this awkward, but you really could'a died. I had to warm you up quick."

"No, I- I understand perfectly. Really, I do. I just- I thought I'd been...dreaming...again," he explained in a stilted voice, mirroring Zeb's gesture as he felt a blush stain his face, very much aware of what that implied his dreams could sometimes entail.

"Oh... _oh,_ " the Lasat started, eyes widening as the realization washed through him. Then his expression became somewhat – dare he think it? – hopeful. "Well...guess that wouldn't be such a bad dream then."

For several minutes, his gaze darted between Kallus' face and his own hands, before he grudgingly mumbled, "Not much dislikin' that new red about now, though."

Kallus shook his head, throwing on a smirk in order to counteract the deepening blush. "Laugh it up, you. I hadn't exactl- _ah!_ " he cried out in pain when he unthinkingly attempted to shift his injured leg. Zeb had removed the bo-rifle splint to allow them both to sleep properly, but it had also left him without a reminder that he was, in fact, still hurt.

"Hey, slow down there. You don't wanna make that worse," Zeb scolded him as he went for the rifle. "Didn't fix it up any more than I already had in...in case..."

"In case what?" he pressed when the Lasat didn't immediately turn back to him.

"In case you were...still thinkin' to go back to the Empire. Don't- want 'em to get suspicious," he said, returning to bind Kallus' leg once more.

"Why wouldn't I?" he asked, trying to keep his pain responses tightly under control while Zeb worked.

The Lasat didn't look at him at all while he rebound the injured leg, nor for several moments after he'd finished. He just stared down at the bo-rifle before sighing, shoulders slumping as he finally lifted his eyes to meet Kallus'.

"Gonna give away just how much of a hopeless romantic _idiot_ I am if I tell you that, but let me ask you somethin' else. Back on the moon, you...you said somethin' about your mark fadin'."

"What of it?" Kallus returned, gaze sliding briefly off to the side before being pulled back in by the intensity in the former guardsman's eyes.

"When did that happen?"

"It- Zeb..." he started to argue, but after a moment of gazing down at his still-concealed left forearm, he began to answer, staring intently at the bound mark. "It was three days after the siege had ended. The mark had always been there, of course, but...when I looked on it that night...I saw the words beginning to fade away...until there was but the barest impression of them upon my skin," he said quietly, pressing his fingers against the place where he knew the mark rested.

"Three days? Yeah. Sounds about right."

"Right for what?" Kallus asked, dragging his eyes back up to the Lasat's face.

"I think that- was about the day I saw my _own_ eyes for the first time," Zeb said, something heavy in his expression as those eyes traced along Kallus' fingers.

" _Your_ eyes?"

"Yeah. My _green_ _eyes_. I looked in a mirror for the first time since gettin' color...and I saw disruptor fire blinkin' me in the face," he said, ears flattened against his skull in abject misery. "And I remember thinkin'...that if _that_ was all color had to show me, I didn't want it. I thought- I might as well lie down and die there...because I didn't wanna see _that_ every kriffin' time I looked at myself. I didn't want _that_ to be my life."

Kallus had no words for that. His only reaction was a sharp intake of breath. It would make sense, but...every time – every _kriffing_ _ **time**_ – he thought he couldn't cause this man more pain, the galaxy went and proved him wrong.

"Green was the first color I lost...within _minutes_ of that breaking point. The others were slower...took a few years...until all I had was amber...and the color of your eyes is rarer than you might think," he said with a small, helpless smile. "It was almost like bein' colorblind again...but- if your mark faded- because of what happened to _me_ , I think _that's_ why I started to lose the colors...because you said- _that_ was when you gave me up...when you gave our bond up for lost," Zeb explained haltingly _._

"Yes," Kallus whispered in response.

"Then...because I didn't have color...I'd say you've been less yourself in all that time...been tryin' to ignore what you _know_. And...ever since we met up on Lothal and you got your words, you _have_ been startin' to question 'em. _That's_ why I've been gettin' color back."

Kallus shook his head. "It- it's not that simple, Garazeb," he said, voice barely above a whisper. "You've- given me some things to think about; that will I grant, but I can't just turn my back on everything I've put my life toward based upon the strength of a _theory_. What good is my heart, my _soul_...what good are they if they can be turned by a few pretty words?" he asked, looking at Zeb with sorrow in his eyes, but also with resolve. He needed _time_ , time away from the Lasat, from _this_ , the immediacy and the intensity of it – he needed time to _think_ , to explore and investigate.

And, interestingly enough, there was no disappointment in Zeb's expression as he listened to him talk. Though he sighed at the end of it, there was a strange and fierce sort of joy on his face as he looked back at him.

"I think they're worth a lot, but I can understand the need to keep your convictions," he said as he got to his feet. "Go then. Chase your answers. See what conclusions you come to, and when you make your choice...I'll be there."

The implication in his words was plain enough – that he would be there, either to take up arms at his side or to cross bo-rifles with him once again as mortal enemies. To whatever end, their destinies were intertwined, and they would take them up when a decision was made.

And that decision _was_ made. It was made through an arduous trek back to his post and a less than warm reception by his colleagues. It was made through learning the truth of Geonosis...the truth of Lasan and of Kashyyyk...through attempting to trace the whispers through the Advanced Weapons Research division. It was made through learning the fate of the children taken by the Inquisitors and the truth behind the shadowy Order 66. It was made through lonely nights in his sparse quarters aboard various Star Destroyers, with no more warmth afforded to him than the dimming glow of the meteorite Zeb had given him and the fading memory of his unconditional care.

It was a decision that was made on a night when he found himself spending his leave time in one of Nar Shaddaa's seedier establishments, an irresponsible number of shots of Corellian brandy into the evening, looking for either a fight or a blaster bolt to the head – anything to be clean of just how much of a lie and a waste his life was.

What he received instead was a Togruta female stepping in to save his neck when he thoughtlessly pissed off a gang of Crimson Dawn enforcers.

"Alexsandr Kallus?" the woman said in an etherially calm voice as the Rodians fled the alley.

"Who...who's asking?" he half-slurred the words out, nearing the point of being blind drunk.

"My name is Ahsoka Tano, and I understand you're in need of some direction. That and a mutual Lasat friend of ours would be very angry if I let you get yourself killed in a bar fight."

XxX

Zeb and the rest of the _Ghost_ crew didn't need Kanan and Ezra to tell them what had happened to Ahsoka on Malachor.

They already knew.

They knew because they had all heard Rex's strangled cry that night.

Shocked to hear the hardened soldier make such a distraught sound, they'd all rushed to the 'fresher to find him pressed against the back wall, as far from the mirror as he could get, staring at his bare chest in horror.

"Rex, what is it? What's wrong?" Hera pressed him.

Zeb was the first to realize what had happened when he saw the old clone's fingers tracing desperately over the old blaster wound, as if rubbing at the skin could somehow bring back what had been lost.

"His soulmark," Zeb said quietly, just as horrified. "His soulmark's gone."

"It didn't...she's not...she can't..." Rex mumbled helplessly, not quite able to get the words out as he sank slowly to the floor, fingers scrabbling all the more desperately at the stretch of bare skin.

"Oh, Rex," Hera whispered, moving to kneel beside him on the floor. "I'm so sorry."

And though she must have been worried, near mad with fear that her own song had already gone silent, the Twi'lek still took the time to gather Rex in her arms, holding him close as his eyes grew impossibly red.

Sabine also moved to her knees, bowing her head and chanting something softly in Mando'a, and as Rex turned his pain-filled face to the heavens, he uttered a single broken cry of, " _Ahsoka_ ," before burying his face in Hera's shoulder, his whole body trembling as he wept silently, cleaving to the Twi'lek for all he was worth.

They were the only tears he shed for his lost partner.

Later, once Ezra and Kanan had come safely back to them, Zeb found he still couldn't sleep, plagued by visions of fading colors and vanishing words. Seeing the hardened clone trooper so undone by grief had shaken something in him, and all he could think about was Alexsandr Kallus. He walked several laps around the base, but it did nothing to dispel the haunting vision of the human's faintly smiling face slowly bleeding of color, melting into black and white until all that remained were those precious amber eyes – and then even _those_ would fade to black, leaving him alone in a completely colorless wasteland.

When he finally reached a point where he just couldn't take it anymore, he hid himself in the shadows of the _Ghost's_ undercarriage and made a call on the emergency civilian frequency he and Kallus had set up before parting ways on Geonosis. Something in his chest eased when the holographic figure of the Imperial agent appeared before him. The colors were muted through the grainy blue of the hologram, but Zeb could still see the distinct amber color of his eyes, allowing him to breathe a sigh of relief.

"Zeb?" the holographic figure started, a small look of concern on his face. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Zeb didn't answer at first. For several minutes, all he could manage to do was look at the agent, taking in the sight of him, _alive_. He'd clearly woken him up, as he appeared to be dressed in only undershorts and an undershirt. His normally perfect hair was less than regulation, rumpled with sleep, but those amber eyes were alert, prepared for danger.

"Sorry to wake you," Zeb mumbled apologetically, glancing away from him for a moment before letting his eyes sneak back to the agent. "It's not- an emergency or anythin'. I just...I _had_ to see you."

"Zeb?" Kallus pressed, the worry in his eyes becoming slightly more pointed.

"One of the guys lost his soulmark today, and I- all I've been thinkin' about is you. About what it was like to lose the colors before...and...I'm not- sure I can go through that again," he admitted.

"Then...what would you propose to do, exactly?" Kallus asked him.

"I don't know," he bit out, half in irritation and half in worry. "I'm half-willin' to offer to leave the Rebellion if you'd just leave the Empire."

"Zeb-"

"He just- he _broke_. Somethin' inside him just shattered when Rex lost Ahsoka. I didn't think stuff like that actually happened. I mean- he pulled himself back together, but- somethin's different now. I never thought-"

"Wait!" Kallus interrupted him, having latched onto something he'd said. "Are you saying...Ahsoka Tano is _dead?_ "

"Yeah," Zeb said, only just then thinking how foolish it might have been to reveal that information to an Imperial agent, but he obviously wasn't thinking straight just now. "They were soulbound."

"Oh, hells," Kallus muttered, running a hand through his hair, only succeeding in messing it up further. "I suppose this falls to me then."

"Kal...what are you sayin'?" Zeb asked, glancing at the man in the hologram sideways in his suspicion-slash-confusion.

Kallus sighed, shoulders slumping briefly before he straightened them again, looking up at Zeb with an expression that was some strange mixture of hope, fear, and longing. "This- wasn't exactly the way I'd planned on telling you this, Zeb, but...By the light of Lothal's moons."

For several moments, all Zeb could manage to do was blink down at the Imperial – now _former_ Imperial, he supposed – in confusion. Then he gave a small laugh that was part annoyance and part joy, but _all_ relief.

"So when _were_ you plannin' on tellin' me?"

"There hasn't exactly been a lot of time for idle chatter. This is a fairly recent development," the agent informed him with a wry lift of his eyebrow. "Trained espionage agent though I may be, Ahsoka had an intensive course of her own in guerrilla counter espionage and it wasn't easily done whilst still recovering from near alcohol poisoning."

"What now?"

"That...is a _very_ long story that is best kept for later," Kallus said with a pained but fond smile. "I believe that woman knew a thing or two about coming back from losing everything. You and I are a little too close to each other in that respect to be of much use to each other. That and- now I wonder if her directive to keep quiet on the subject was more a test for _me_ than anything else...or if perhaps she _knew_ her own peril. Either way, it- it seems I truly _am_ Fulcrum now," he said, the expression on his face containing no small amount of uncertainty.

But if there was one thing _Zeb_ felt certain of in this moment, it was this man – this man who had always fought to do the right thing, no matter how much it might harm him personally...this man whom destiny or the Ashla or the Force or whatever it was had led him to, as a reminder that he was never _really_ alone, that even after the greatest sorrow and the deepest hate...love might still exist.

"You can do it," Zeb reassured him, his voice steady and sure. "I _know_ you can."

"Thank you...Zeb."

XxX

It wasn't easy, but there had never been any expectation that it would be.

Kallus did good work as Fulcrum, and in accordance with Ahsoka's last instructions and his own wishes, Zeb kept the secret of his identity. That part was easy enough. Even after Bahryn, he had never breathed a word of their soul bond to anyone. What _was_ becoming difficult, though, was to conceal the growing _magnetism_ between them whenever they came face to face. After a particularly intense duel, it was almost a relief to be thrown clear of the latest Rebel-Imperial skirmish by Sabine's most recent 'distraction'.

The first thing Kallus became aware of upon shaking the ringing and static from his head was the screech of the young Mandalorian's voice over Zeb's comlink.

"Dammit, Zeb! I warned you to get out of there! Why in the _hells_ didn't you _listen?!_ "

Somewhere off to his left, he heard the former guardsman give a half-hearted grunt of a response, but the comlink must not have picked it up, because the girl kept shouting.

" _Answer me, Zeb!_ Where are you? If you're dead, I'm going to kriffing kill you myself! _Zeb!_ " she pleaded with him, a tiny tinge of desperation in the latest cry.

"I'm here, Sabine," the Lasat finally answered. When Kallus managed to blink his eyes open, he saw Zeb slowly dragging himself into a sitting position, blood trickling down the side of his face from a cut above his right ear, plus several other scrapes and bumps. "I'm all right. Had somethin' to take care of," he finished, grinning wryly over at the double agent.

"Something? What _something_ is more important than your own smelly hide?" the artist demanded.

"You'd be surprised. Get movin'. Get those cylinders to Hera. I'll catch up when you swing back around," he told her, still with that same oddly amused expression on his face as he crawled toward Kallus across the small field of rubble.

The former Imperial shook his head, coughing up a mouthful of dust and grime as he slowly sat up. "You didn't have to protect me, you know. Someone might've seen that."

Zeb gave a small chuckle as he pounded him on the back, helping him cough up the last of the gunk. "Nah. I'd get bored of it all without you around. Besides, I'd say I've still gotta keep an eye on you if- if you don't even notice you're on _fire!_ " Zeb finished with a start, yanking at his left glove, which did in fact have a fairly strong chemical spark eating it up.

Crying out in shock when he suddenly felt the small flame burn through to his skin, he quickly beat his arm against the shattered ground. By the time he'd managed to douse the fire, it had burnt several spots through his binding cloth.

"Aw, karabast. Let's see that," Zeb muttered, reaching for his arm. Kallus couldn't fully help the flinch at the small point of contact, but he didn't pull away from the Lasat.

Zeb hesitated, though, slowly looking up at him, asking silent permission with his eyes.

 _Is this okay?_

After a moment, Kallus nodded, eyes remaining locked on Zeb's for several minutes before the Lasat slowly shifted his focus back down to his arm.

Being gentle, he peeled back the burnt, torn sleeve. Then, slowly, reverently, he unwrapped the singed layers of the binding cloth.

The skin was not much damaged; just a few patches that were redder than they ought to be. What really stood out was the gentle, beautiful glow of his soulmark, the violet shimmer proclaiming itself proudly from amongst all the scars that adorned his arm. When Zeb looked to him for permission once more, he quickly gave it, nodding as he felt his breath quicken.

The Lasat's touch upon the mark was delicate, the press of his thumb tender as he ran it across the letters, the words that belonged to him – _only_ to him. Alex couldn't fully help the trembling breath that crossed his lips with every gentle caress of his one time enemy's hand. Though he was fully clothed and only too aware of the fact that they could be discovered any minute, he had never felt so naked in all his life as he did in that moment.

"Zeb..." he whispered faintly, barely managing to hold back a tiny _gasp_ as the side of a claw traced the mark.

"Kal," he returned, seeming like he wanted to say more, but not sure of what that more was.

"They- they'll _see_ ," he whispered helplessly. "Someone will _see._ "

"Right," Zeb responded with a heavy nod and a shuddering breath of his own. "We gotta get you wrapped up again."

"I don't- I wish I didn't _have_ to," he tried to explain himself. "But...if I were to stop...there would be talk. _Someone_ would notice."

"I know. I get it. But...maybe...we can do it a little different this time," Zeb suggested, an idea flaring to life in his wide, luminous eyes. Laying his bo-rifle between them, he carefully undid the wrappings from one end of it. Then he began to wrap the well-worn length of fabric around Alex's forearm.

"Zeb!" he started in protest, though he did nothing to stop the Lasat. "You- you can't just- someone will _definitely_ _notice,_ " he hissed at him.

"Will they? Nobody has to know where you got it from," Zeb said with a wink as he finished tying off the strip of cloth. "This way you can really keep a part of me with you, and I'll keep somethin' a' yours," he continued, going for the singed but useable length of regulation Imperial binding fabric, using it to replace the strip he'd taken from his weapon. Then he gave the bo-rifle a showy twirl before slinging it onto his back. "There. Got me a nice Imperial trophy now, haven't I."

Again, Alex shook his head, smiling. "You're absolutely impossible, Garazeb Orrelios."

"Take me or leave me, mate," he said with a Bogan-may-care grin. But then, just for a moment, he got that same uncertain look in his eyes – like he _wanted_ to say more, but maybe wasn't sure what to say or how to say it. But then that expression was replaced by a look of steely determination – right before the Lasat leaned in and pressed his lips against Alex's.

And _oh_ – if Alex had thought he'd trembled before, it was _nothing_ compared to the tremor that moved through his body as Zeb kissed him. The kiss was deep and intense and impassioned, and over all too soon, leaving the highly-trained ISB agent weak in the knees when his partner pulled away from him.

"Agent Kallus! _Agent Kallus!_ " the faint echo of Imperial voices suddenly sounded close by, making toward them through the rubble.

"Sounds like your pals are comin' for you," Zeb said, a twinge of regretful annoyance in his voice.

"I'm half-tempted to say 'let them come' if _that's_ what you intend to leave me on," Alex joked.

"Nope. Can't have that kind of talk. That'll get you killed. Sorry about this. I'll owe you somethin' better later on," the former guardsman told him before delivering a hard blow to his face.

It wasn't the first time Zeb had had to render him unconscious after one of their encounters, and Alex didn't imagine it would be the last. It certainly must have made a good show for the stormtroopers who'd come upon them. Either way, it left him above suspicion as far as involvement in the incident went.

Thrawn, however, could always be counted upon to notice _something_ , and he did not disappoint when he arrived at the base's slapdash medical station to personally hear Kallus' report on the raid.

"Agent Kallus," the grand admiral began after he'd initially turned away from the ISB agent, "correct me if I am wrong, but...that is not a regulation binding cloth you are wearing. Is it," he said, voice unfailingly calm and even as he turned back toward Kallus, nodding down at the length of fabric wrapped around his forearm.

"No," he answered after only a moment's hesitation, a moment of sheer terror he only hoped he could pass off as embarrassment over the grand admiral having brought up such a sensitive topic. Half willing himself to blush, he stood from the field medic's diagnostic table and pulled his jacket back on, concealing the length of well-worn fabric once more. "No. It is not. My own was damaged in the skirmish and I had to improvise."

The Chiss raised a single blue-black eyebrow at this. "Surely no one would fault you for being without one in the interim. They are not, as I recall, strictly enforced. It is not _required_ that you wear one."

"No, it is not. It is a- preference of mine – to be reminded of my commitments to this Empire, of _why_ I have made the decisions I have made." That wasn't entirely untrue, after all.

"Ah. Then I suppose I can admire such a commitment. For my part, I have always found the Imperial preference for concealment somewhat repugnant."

"Sir?" Kallus found himself asking against his better judgement, and though the Chiss didn't stir even one step from his spot, the agent suddenly had the distinct impression that he'd moved in very close to him.

"A human soulmark. It is living art, Agent," the grand admiral said, something like pleasure lighting up his red eyes. "If a culture's art may be used to see the truths of that culture, how much _more_ could be learned from the study of soulmarks? What truths could be gleaned about an individual from the very lines of their soul made real upon their flesh, masterless, _free_ , free from any constraint of society or shame? _That_ is the ultimate truth, Agent Kallus, and to attain mastery over your opponent's highest self, _that_ is the ultimate _victory_."

Kallus wasn't sure when it had happened, but at some point while the grand admiral had been speaking, the med station had become empty of people. He was utterly alone with this most deadly of creatures, alone, naked, and unarmed in the very nest of the gundark, and it took every last ounce of his own discipline and control not to react when his superior really did approach him.

"I have been permitted to study many a soulmark in my time, and have come to know much about the individuals who bear them," the Chiss said, some flicker of excitement moving through those glowing eyes as he entered Kallus' personal space. "I would, for instance, be most curious to see what I could divine of _you_ , Agent Kallus, simply from the study of your soulmark," he continued, fingers brushing dangerously through the air just above Kallus' concealed left forearm.

 _Don't react._ _ **Don't react. Don't react!**_ he mentally thrashed himself, shoving down his abhorrence and his disgust, displaying nothing more than simple embarrassment at the notion that the grand admiral felt at liberty to even _suggest_ he bare his mark to him. It would almost be more polite for him to just strip naked here.

" _Sir_ ," he near-hissed in response, resisting every instinct that told him to snatch his arm out of the Chiss' reach. "I do not know what is proper among your own people, but for mine, it- a mark is a private thing. This is _not_ a suitable conversation."

"My own people," the grand admiral said with a strangely rueful shake of his head before beginning to move around Kallus, circling. "And what, Agent, do you know of Chiss soul bonds?"

"Almost nothing," Kallus admitted, glad for the change of topic. "I know there are rumors...that the Chiss are not soulbound at all."

"It is not true. We are just as bound as the rest of the galaxy. We simply choose not to reveal how. I carry a bond of my own. But it is the expressed nature of the human soul bond which interests me. The destinies of most sentients are not written out quite so... _vulnerably_...as yours are," the grand admiral said as he came to a brief stop at Kallus' side, almost as if he were whispering a secret in his ear, his voice eerily soft.

"That vulnerability makes us better warriors," Kallus insisted before he could stop himself, hoping the words didn't come out as much of a challenge as they sounded in his own head. It was foolish to engage in this topic at all, but...something inside of him rebelled at the notion of his soul bond being called vulnerable.

The grand admiral gave a small grunt that could almost have been a laugh, and there was certainly amusement in his eyes when he came back around to look Kallus in the eye. "I am inclined to agree with your assessment. It does, that. For what do we as living beings fight the hardest to protect but that which we perceive as belonging to us – as ours. Though, if it is simply a matter of strategy, I suppose I can understand our Emperor's policy. There are even rumors that he has been developing methods for _erasing_ the marks altogether," he said, gazing intently into the agent's eyes as he spoke.

And at that, Kallus barely managed to conceal his own horror. To have his soulmark erased against his will...to have his bond with Zeb severed...he could imagine no worse fate. To be both alive, but untethered? Unsecure? _Alone?_ At least in death, there was hope of still being joined.

"Is it- even possible to _survive_ such a process?" he found himself asking, his voice nearing a whisper as he fought throwing up.

"Oh, it is. Of that I can assure you. It was a technique the Jedi of old had mastered, or, so the stories say. The only real question remaining would be, would such erasure be voluntary...or _in_ voluntary?" the Chiss posed.

"An interesting question," Kallus responded after taking a moment to just breathe, knowing there was no way he could conceal his revulsion, but there were myriad reasons _anyone_ would be repulsed by that notion. Not all of them immediately treasonous. "New order or no new order, soulmarks are still- a deeply ingrained part of human spiritual conscience. Some would perhaps be eager to be rid of them, but others... _many_ others, would be...less than compliant."

" _Far_ less, I imagine. For the recalcitrant, it is likely such a practice could take on the form of _punishment_."

Had he been free to, he would've asked what right the Empire had to just tear into a person's soul like that. Destiny or no, Force or no, fate or no, a person's _choice_ should be inviolate.

 _And that is what this Empire has lost sight of,_ he thought, the words like burning acid across what little remained of his belief in his former Empire.

"Yes...very likely," he said distantly, uncertain if this conversation was meant as a warning or a simple thought exercise. With Thrawn, either possibility was equally as likely.

"If it is not too presumptuous of me to ask, Agent Kallus, did your mark ever receive its answer?" Thrawn asked, placing a few steps of distance between them, though his presence still loomed large within Kallus' awareness. It _was_ too presumptuous to ask and he had little doubt that Thrawn _knew_ that, but this had gone beyond simple propriety. This was a test for _him_. The Chiss wanted to know what his answer would be, and Kallus already knew he had no hope of successfully lying about it.

"Yes," he answered before turning deliberately away, as if turning from old pain. "But that was another life...a life I was deprived of. I can never know what might have been, so it is not for me to question what is," he finished, turning back to Thrawn at the last with durasteel in his gaze. Whatever the grand admiral took that gaze to mean, he had given him something _true_ about himself, and that was plainly just the sort of thing the man loved.

"An excellent answer, Agent," Thrawn said with an approving nod. "Rest assured that such loyalty will be remembered."

"Of course, Sir."

"Now, if you will excuse me, there are other matters which require my attention."

Then he was gone, and Kallus was alone, uncertain if he'd passed or failed Thrawn's test. Either way, it was a struggle for him to remain upright, the adrenalin of the situation finally beginning to wear off. It was several minutes yet before he could convince himself to start walking, heading toward the base.

 _Well, Garazeb, I surely hope this thing of ours is worth it._

XxX

Zeb had always known that it would have to happen but, at the same time, when the day finally did come that he had to reveal his long-hidden soul bond to his family, it was not at all in a manner he'd ever considered.

"I guess we can thank Agent Kallus," Kanan said when Hera asked him about his and Ezra's escape from the Lothal factory. "He knew Fulcrum's secret code phrase."

Zeb started upon hearing the words. Kal had had to reveal himself? Was he all right? Was he still _safe?_ Thrawn hadn't found him out, had he? He almost didn't notice his own place in the unexpected turn of events until he was pointedly called on.

"Wait. _Kallus_ is _Fulcrum?_ " Sabine demanded in shock. " _How_ does that even make sense?"

"For that, he said we'd need to ask Zeb," Kanan said, and all eyes in the command center immediately turned to the Lasat.

Kal hadn't told them anything then. Probably best. After all, wasn't it better that they hear the truth from _him?_ Someone they _trusted?_

"Yeah...about that," he started in, ears twitching nervously as he reached a hand behind his head. "There's- somethin' I need to tell you guys. Probably should'a told you a while ago, but I- I didn't know what to say."

"Zeb?" Hera prompted, her tone concerned, though her arms were crossed over her chest in her typical expectant manner.

"Well...Kallus is...he's- it's-"

"Any day now, Zeb," Ezra half-teased. "What exactly happened back on the ice moon? You never really told us."

"Hrngh, karabast," he growled in frustration.

"Wait. What _did_ happen?" Sabine pressed, suddenly curious. "You really didn't tell us what happened after you went to Geonosis."

"Guys, Kallus is my- we're..."

"What?" Kanan asked, beginning to sound suspicious.

"We're soulbound," Zeb finally admitted, looking around at all of them. "When I looked into his eyes the first time, I got color, and his soulmark is the first words I said to him. He's my soulmate," he said, gaze dropping to his own hands as he waited for their judgement to fall.

"Whoa," Ezra was the one to give voice to what they all must've been thinking.

"But...you told me you'd been able to see color since before we _met_ ," Kanan clarified. "Zeb, you- the first time you saw Kallus, it- it was on _Lasan?_ " the knight asked in quiet shock.

"Yeah."

"Zeb, this...this is _big_ ," Sabine said. "Why didn't you _tell us?_ "

"Like I said...I didn't know what to _say_. I've never told _anybody_ about this. I didn't even tell my own gran...back when it first happened. Back then, I- I couldn't take the shame of it...bein' soulbound to an Imperial."

"Well...I guess I get what you meant back then when you said it wasn't simple," the holographic image of Kanan said with a shake of his head.

"Zeb...what about now?" Hera asked him, the look on her face still largely unreadable as she surveyed him.

"What?"

"You said- back then. How do you feel about him now? What sort of situation is this?"

"Well...we got a chance to talk on Bahryn. We'd never really had that before. And I think I understand him a lot better now. He's a good guy; he just- lost sight of it. I want this, Hera. I _want_ this bond. I want the chance to know what it can be. He's with us. I'll guarantee that."

Hera sighed, her face pinched with sorrow as she looked back at him. "I _want_ to believe you, but- how do you know he's not just _using_ you? Using the bond between you to his own advantage?"

" _No,_ " Zeb growled, his voice dropping to its lowest warning growl as he fought to explain. "He wouldn't do that. I know it doesn't mean much to you, but he didn't steal his bo-rifle. He won that by right of combat. The Lasat Warrior Way states that if you're bested in combat by a worthy opponent, you surrender your weapon. One of my men gave that bo-rifle to Kallus when he'd defeated him. That doesn't just _happen._ It happened because he saw somethin' worthy in him, somethin' worth savin' from the Empire," he told her as he unslung his own bo-rifle, showing her the length of black cloth now wrapped around one end. "Look. This is his. _He's_ wearin' the other bit of wrappin' right now."

"That's an Imperial binding cloth," Sabine said, taking a good look at it for the first time. "Regulation. It's the same type they required cadets who chose binding to wear back at the academy. Hera, the Empire's _dead_ serious about keeping soulmarks covered. Kallus wouldn't just hand this over unless it meant something to him."

"They _bind_ their soulmarks?" Ezra asked, eyes widening in barely concealed horror. "Did...did _you_ ever do that?" he asked Sabine.

"No!" she spat out, her gaze darting between Zeb, Ezra, and the bo-rifle. "It was the one choice they allowed us. I never bound either of mine. It's a _disgusting_ practice. I almost feel better for Kallus...if he's got a bit of you with him," she finished as she looked back at Zeb, offering him a small smile. At least he had _one_ of them on his side.

"I understand where you're coming from, Zeb. I really do...but I also know how deeply you love," Hera said as she came to him, reaching up to lay a hand on his cheek. "More than how this could compromise the rebellion, I _really_ don't want to see you get hurt."

Zeb smiled sadly as he looked down at her. "I appreciate it, Hera, but that's not gonna happen."

"Then why didn't you tell us about him being Fulcrum?" she pointed out.

"He asked me not to. It was for his own safety. I'm pretty sure he only revealed himself this time because there was no other choice. You never told us about Ahsoka bein' Fulcrum. Pretty sure it was her idea to keep it a secret anyway."

"Wait. _Ahsoka_ recruited him?" Kanan pressed.

"Yeah. Or she at least gave him some kind of crash course before Malachor. I dunno all the details. I just know she was the one who got in touch with him."

"Well," Rex suddenly started in, having been silent thus far, "if Ahsoka trusted him, that's good enough for me."

The clone's words seemed, if not to settle the argument, then at least to mollify Hera's concern. They would need to talk more later. That, Zeb didn't doubt, but as Hera returned to talking with the two Jedi about the logistics of their escape from Lothal, the Lasat offered the old warrior a grateful look.

"Thanks for that, mate."

"Sure," he said, gaze going distant as his focus turned inward. "I respect Hera, but I'm not about to let her dismiss a soul bond. She should know better. Also seems to me like you know Kallus better than we do at this point. If you think there's something there worth fighting for, then...I know we'll be behind you. Even if it takes some of us a little longer to come around than others," he said as he looked back up at Zeb.

Zeb nodded, feeling a look that was more relief than anything else move onto his face as he slung his bo-rifle back into place. He knew that Hera only spoke out of concern for him. Of _course_ he knew that, and he was overjoyed that she cared that much, but...Kal was his _soulmate._ He was his soulmate and he was taking terrible risks in order to help their cause – to make up for past wrongs. Zeb was going to do everything in his power to make sure that he and Kal would have the chance to be together when this was all over. Before his hands fell back to his sides, he allowed his right hand to trace along the stiff black cloth that now adorned his bo-rifle.

 _Don't you worry, Kal. Nothin' anybody says is gonna turn me from you. I know who you are. And when the fightin's done, we're gonna prove it to everybody. Just keep fightin'._

XxX

As foolish a choice as he knew it was, Kallus decided to continue wearing the strip of fabric Zeb had given him. He had to be painstakingly careful in making certain his bound mark always stayed hidden, because if anyone found out he'd dispensed with the wearing of a regulation binding cloth, he would almost certainly be brought to task for it, and if that happened, other questions would surely follow.

The length of cloth was old, clearly well-used, but also just as clearly well-cared for. Though it appeared on the verge of breaking, it was strong. It had endured much hardship and would undoubtedly endure much more. In many ways, it was like Zeb himself.

It was a foolish, sentimental, desperate choice and any of his academy professors would've beaten him for it, but the small piece of cloth made him feel closer to the Lasat. It made him feel closer to who he was when he was with him – to that part of himself that he'd lost.

It made him feel like Alex again.

And it was, interestingly enough, that selfsame length of fabric that brought Ezra Bridger closer to trusting him.

He was already amazed that rebel command would've sent anyone at all to extract him. He would've half-expected them to write him off as a loose end if he really had been found out. But then he remembered the cause that Garazeb Orrelios had given himself to and decided to entrust himself to the young Jedi's hands, even though the boy wouldn't tell him which planet needed to be erased from Thrawn's database. Their 'moment of truth', though, came when Ezra was getting himself into a command uniform to infiltrate Thrawn's office.

"Not to seem rude, but we _are_ on something of a tight schedule," Kallus reminded him as the young Jedi perused the uniforms available.

"Give me a minute, man. If I have to wear a straitjacket, I at least want to make sure it's not gonna outright strangle me."

"Wonderful," the double agent said, rolling his eyes as the boy finally selected an appropriately sized uniform. Then, without warning, Bridger began to strip out of his bounty hunter disguise, giving Kallus an unimpeded view of the soulmark written across his upper back.

Grunting awkwardly, Kallus' first instinct was to turn away, but he couldn't quite help noticing that there was something distinct about the boy's mark. It wasn't all of one color like most marks he knew about. The words began in a vibrant teal color, gradually shifting through hues of pink, green, and orange before culminating in a deep purple color. And because he'd seen the colors, he couldn't entirely keep himself from reading the words themselves.

'I get that you're a self-sacrificing sack of marshmallow fluff, but for once in your life, would it kill you to not throw yourself in front of an ion cannon?'

Mentally scolding himself for the trespass, Kallus hastily turned away from the sight. But Ezra, young in the ways of the Jedi though he must be, must have noticed the shift in his countenance.

"Nothing to be shy about. We're all guys here," he said, giving his shoulders a casual shrug before pulling the uniform's undershirt on, followed quickly by the jacket. "Bet you've never seen anything like it," he said, a thread of youthful pride running through his voice.

"That will I grant," Kallus said with another roll of his eyes. If the boy needed to be humored, he could do at least that much.

"If we weren't on such a 'tight schedule', I'd show you my second mark, too."

"You- have two?" Kallus asked, completely skating around how eager the Jedi apprentice was to show off something that should have been private, but he supposed it could be tallied up to the arrogance and naivety of youth. He'd heard of such things, individuals with more than one mark, but he'd never actually seen it.

"Yup. Bottom of my right heel. It says-"

"Truly not to seem rude this time, but I hadn't meant to see your first. You don't need to be sharing that with me. It's not _for_ my eyes," he said, mind briefly flashing back to a distant time and planet, when he'd said just those words to a ruthless mercenary. Just as briefly, he felt a twinge of pain emanate from the scars that crossed his soulmark.

"I'm not ashamed of them. I _want_ the whole galaxy to see my marks. I want _everyone_ to know that Ezra Bridger has someone, _two_ someones, that he's meant for," Ezra said, a fire burning in his eyes as he turned around to look at Kallus. And while the former Imperial supposed he could see where an orphan boy would have such a perspective, it seemed to him that Ezra wasn't quite seeing _his_ perspective either.

"It isn't about pride or shame. It's about love and respect," he tried to explain, fingers twitching to reach for the mark on his arm. "I was always told- it was about honoring the bond between yourself and your partner. Your love is your own, and it shouldn't be on display for just anyone to rake their eyes over. It is...precious," he finished awkwardly, unable to find a better word.

"And that's how you feel about Zeb?" Ezra asked him, raising an eyebrow as he tilted his head to the side.

Kallus blinked back at him for several moments. So Zeb _had_ told his crew. He hadn't been certain and, really, it had never been his place to tell them. But now that they knew...

"Yes," he answered, gaze dropping as he allowed himself to reach for the concealed mark. "He- makes me better than I am...reminds me of things I've forgotten. He is precious to me...and my feelings for him are not subject to the petty whims of others," he said, lifting his eyes back to Ezra's with a fire all their own.

The young Jedi looked thoughtful for a moment before something seemed to settle in his expression. Nodding, he let his eyes flit along Kallus' arm. "I think I can understand that. Mostly, I just wanted to hear it from _you._ Zeb...lets his heart run away with him sometimes. I wanted to make sure this wasn't like that. Heh, he's still got that bit of binding fabric of yours. Do you still have his?"

Nodding, Kallus decided this was one exception he _could_ make and slid off his glove, raising the fabric of his sleeve just a few centimeters to show the young rebel the pale, faded cloth wrapped tightly around his forearm – the piece of Zeb that stayed with him always.

"It- keeps me going," he found himself admitting before he could think better of it, because it was true. Garazeb Orrelios made him strong, even though he was weak. And now, very soon, he would have the chance to truly be with him. He'd hardly dared to even _hope_...

 _Zeb...my partner...my..._

When he withdrew his arm to pull his glove back on, Ezra nodded again, a faint grin moving across his face. "Yeah. You'll be good for him. I can tell. Let's get a move on. Sooner we get into that office, the sooner we can get you two idiots together."

Even though things didn't end up playing out that way, it still somehow eased something in Kallus, to have a member of Zeb's crew – his _family_ – believe in him.

XxX

In spite of the secret dreams he'd nurtured of a life with Zeb after the Empire, Kallus supposed he'd always known, deep down, that his time as Fulcrum would end in capture. Thrawn using him to reveal the location of the rebel base was bad enough. It left him with a sense of utter failure and the feeling that he'd almost actively _betrayed_ the rebellion.

 _Zeb...please...forgive me. I'd thought I could keep you safe. I never meant for it to end like this. I'm so sorry._

 _This_ was his darkest hour. Execution would be a mercy. In his view, Thrawn couldn't possibly bring him lower.

How wrong he was.

After giving Konstantine the coordinates to ready the fleet for, the Chiss fell into a contemplative silence, allowing Kallus to stew in his own guilt. After endless minutes of this, Thrawn's red eyes refocused themselves upon him with laser intensity, the beginnings of a triumphant sneer beginning to turn up the corners of his mouth.

"And what, Agent Kallus, shall _your_ fate be? Execution is, I think, too quick, _far_ too merciful for what you have done. Your punishment must be suitably _lingering_ ," he said as he approached, leaving the whole of the ex-agent's spine tingling with silent terror.

"Then what do you propose to do?" Kallus demanded, refusing to let that terror show, defiant to the last. "Throw me in a cell? Sell me to the Zygerrians?"

"No, no, no. Of course not. I like to think I can be a great deal more _imaginative_ than that," the grand admiral said, coming right up to Kallus and taking his chin in hand, lifting his face up to look him in the eye. "For you see, _Fulcrum_ , I _know_ you. I have studied you these last months and I understand you quite well by now. You are the sort to prioritize your own needs least. The threat of harm to your _self_ would mean very little. But there are ways, Agent...ways and ways again, to harm you."

"What are you talking about?" Kallus hissed through gritted teeth, trying and failing to pull free of the Chiss' grip, and in response, that grip only tightened, digging painfully into his jaw and keeping him locked eye to eye with the grand admiral as he spoke.

"I want you to remember this moment, Kallus. Years from now, when you have nothing left inside you but despair and regret, I want you to think back on this one last moment when your heart still held fire...before you _understood_ the fate that was to befall you. Do you feel it? Are you fired up with the _hope_ of your rebel friends, _Fulcrum?_ "

"What are you going to do?" Kallus spit out, having no wish to play the grand admiral's game.

"What about... _love?_ " Thrawn asked smoothly, running a strangely gentle thumb along his chin, glowing eyes promising the deepest, most hideous of agonies. "For all your words, Kallus, I have come to see that it is _love_ which compels you, and just as love can bring the greatest joy, it can _also_ bring the most grievous _suffering_ ," he declared before shoving the ex-ISB agent's head sharply to the side, leaving him with a crippling sense of dread when he heard the sound of a vibroblade activating.

Rather than use the small weapon to exercise any sort of torture, though, Thrawn used it to cut away Kallus' glove, easily leaving his binders in place. Then he gave his left sleeve a harsh tug, baring the thin white fabric that protected his soulmark to the night air. Sneering all the wider, the grand admiral reached forward with his other hand, fingers callously tracing the carefully-wound layers of cloth.

"Ah. Just as I thought. The _Lasat_ rebel," he said, voice taking on an almost _crooning_ quality as he began to unwrap the cloth.

"Stop!" Kallus protested, struggling against his bonds, but unable to get enough leverage to throw the other man off. "You have _no right-_ "

"You are a traitor to my Empire, Kallus. Your rights under it ended the moment you made that choice," Thrawn told him as the fabric fell away, leaving him bare before his enemy's hungry gaze. Then the Chiss' fingers began to avidly canvass the lines of his cherished soulmark. "Let us see what may be learned about the daring Alexsandr Kallus."

"You _filth. Don't touch it!_ " he snarled, lashing out all the harder despite his injuries, but nothing he did could deter the grand admiral's probing touch.

"There is anger in this mark," Thrawn noted distantly, clinically. "Anger and hatred. Not that of Captain Orrelios, but of yourself. You hate _yourself._ Why do you hate yourself?" the grand admiral pressed, not in mockery, but in some sort of genuine curiosity.

"That's- none of your affair, Thrawn," he hissed, voice falling off at the last. He wasn't sure what, but something inside him was on the verge of breaking. If he couldn't stop this from happening...

"Hmm, no matter I suppose, for just as strong as hate is _love_ – the love you bear for the Lasat warrior. It is your strength, yes, but it will be your undoing, as well. Garazeb Orrelios. It is his smile that will burn the heart out of you," the Chiss declared with a crushing sense of finality.

"What are you saying?" Kallus demanded, feeling at the very edge of his own control. Why was Thrawn drawing this out?

At the last, Thrawn gave him a cold, eery smile of satisfaction and, for an instant, he found himself back on Onderon, alone with a Lasat who had every intention of defiling him, and in that instant, he knew true fear.

"You may join us, Inquisitor," Thrawn suddenly called over Kallus' shoulder, and at the sound of the one word, the rebel agent felt his heart drop into his stomach. Twisting about as much as he was able, he caught a glimpse of the two death troopers escorting a female inquisitor into the space. He neither recognized nor knew the number of this inquisitor, but he supposed that didn't matter so much. It would not change the judgement about to be passed upon him.

"Execution, then?" he couldn't entirely help asking, daring to hope it could be over that quickly, even though his heart knew otherwise.

"Far from it...or perhaps exactly that, depending upon how one looks at the situation. Do you remember, Agent, our conversation some months back...the rumors that the Emperor was testing methods of _erasing_ soulmarks?"

 _Oh, stars._

"Such a feat is neither distant nor rumored. It is fact. The Inquisitorius has been training intensely with these new methods and are becoming quite adept in their use. Be comforted, at least, in knowing that the break will be clean," the grand admiral said as he stepped back from him, allowing the inquisitor through to his side.

" _No_ ," he whispered in horrified shock. "This...you _cannot do this._ It's _monstrous!_ "

"Indeed it is," Thrawn said with a flat stare. "And yet it is the punishment you have earned."

"I'm not just going to erase your mark," the inquisitor said to him, running a single finger over the soulmark. "This will sever your bond with the Lasat."

"What do you imagine will happen to _him?_ What will _he_ experience...the _moment_ that bond is broken?" the Chiss taunted him.

Zeb! His Zeb. If their bond was severed, the color would fade from his eyes – those simple elements that Kallus took for granted, but that the Lasat prized so very highly, that had been dangled so capriciously before his eyes, given and withdrawn with every foolish decision the ex-Imperial had ever made. And when the color was torn from his sight, Zeb would have nothing to think but that he was dead, that he'd lost him – this time, for good. Would he even _survive_ such a cruel blow? Alex didn't care about himself. His own life didn't matter. But to break Zeb's heart like that...? In a lifetime of wrongdoing, he could imagine no greater wrong than this.

No matter what he did, it seemed he could do nothing but hurt the Lasat.

"Please. Not this," he whispered as he looked up at the inquisitor – begging. _Actually begging._ " _Anything_ but this. If you want to kill me, just kill me. Please don't do this. _Please!_ "

But even as he spoke the words, he knew they were futile. There was nothing he had that they wanted, nothing he could trade in exchange for his partner's deliverance. He was only half-ashamed to admit it, but in that moment, he would've happily traded the entire Rebel Alliance away in order to spare Zeb pain. For Zeb, he would fall to his knees and beg a thousand times over. But nothing he did could stop this from happening. No matter how much he screamed or pleaded, he couldn't change any of it. _This_ was their fate, and it was crueler than any he had ever known.

And the inquisitor only confirmed this for him when she bent forward to whisper in his ear.

"There is no mercy, Alexsandr Kallus. You have betrayed the Empire – the Empire to which you promised your very breath. So we will take that breath _back_ now. And you...you will have an eternity to pass without breath, suffocating on the very air in your lungs," she said, a cruel sneer twisting her features into something ugly as she traced a hand up his arm.

Before she could say anything more, he renewed his struggle against his bonds, fighting like an animal in a cage. Beyond injury, beyond captivity, beyond even the threat of death, he fought. If he knew nothing else, he knew he couldn't let this happen. He had done nothing but fail Zeb from the moment he'd first been able to read the words upon his arm. He couldn't fail him now. He just _couldn't!_

"Go ahead," the inquisitor mocked him as she raised a hand. "Resist. _Scream._ It does not matter. You are _powerless_ ," she declared, and as she spoke, Kallus began to feel an awful burning sensation emanating from his arm.

He didn't _want_ to look. He knew what he would see, but neither could he just _not_ look as the physical manifestation of his soul was torn away from him. When he looked up at his arm, it was to see the familiar words of his soulmark transforming into angry lines of fire, rendering into ash before dissolving from his skin altogether.

The scream that escaped his throat as he struggled uselessly in his bonds was beyond words. It was beyond pleading or praying or threatening or even _sense._ It was only anguish – only horror. This pain was beyond any torment his naive, limited mind had been able to imagine. As his beloved soulmark was slowly burned away, the inferno of it raged from the fibers of his skin straight down to the deepest marrow of his bones. It was more than pain. It was worse than mere suffering. This was a violation of his very soul...and he was no longer certain he even _wanted_ to survive the assault.

By the time the inquisitor finally released him from her power, he had collapsed in upon himself. He was left hanging in his bonds, completely unmoving, head tilted listlessly forward. He didn't need to look to know that the mark was gone. He could feel it. Or rather he could feel the _lack_ of it.

"Zeb..." he whispered pitifully, not caring who heard him. "I'm sorry. I'm _so sorry._ "

He almost didn't notice that the inquisitor had collapsed after completing her work. He certainly wasn't aware of being pulled down from the pipe he'd been hanging from. All he knew in that moment was the sound of Thrawn's voice, unwavering in its icy calm.

"You chose this way yourself, Kallus. Never forget that. Whatever transpires today, _he_ will bear the punishment you have incurred."

He knew. He knew it only too well. He had failed completely. He had led the Empire right to the rebellion, likely signed their death warrants himself, and he didn't even _want_ to imagine the shock and horror Zeb was experiencing right now.

And it was all on him. He'd fallen right into Thrawn's trap. Death was _much_ too good for him.

 _Oh, stars. Oh, Zeb. What have I done?_ _ **What have I done?!**_


	4. Why Are You My Clarity?

**When You Pry it From My Cold, Dead Chest**

 _Chapter 4: Why Are You My Clarity?_

Just like before, green was the first color to fade.

Zeb had been running up to Hera, Kanan, and Ezra as the knight was turning to head out into the badlands when he blinked and Kanan's tunic and Hera's skin suddenly shifted into shades of gray.

"W- wha...?" he started in confusion as he blinked rapidly, thinking – _hoping_ – that it was just a temporary problem.

But nothing changed. The color was gone.

 _Oh, no._

"Zeb?" Hera pressed, noticing his sudden hangup. "What's going on?"

Blue was next. He knew because when Ezra turned toward them, he could see that his eyes had also faded to gray. Feeling himself begin to hyperventilate, Zeb stumbled back a step, as if from a physical blow.

 _Oh, Ashla. Oh, Bogan._ _ **Please**_ _...not this._

" _Ashla alkyrreh,_ " he muttered in Lasana, eyes darting desperately around the space, seeking out colors.

"Zeb?" Ezra joined in, and the Lasat couldn't completely help his next step back at the younger Jedi's approach. Right before his eyes, the orange bled from his jacket. "You all right?"

"No...no... _areh nalva, orra,_ " he whispered in horror, Basic escaping him as yellow vanished.

"Zeb, what's happening?" Kanan asked as he rejoined them.

"We don't know. He- he's freaking out or something," Ezra said.

When red vanished from several of the pilots' flight suits, it went with a hideous lash of pain behind his eyes, actually knocking Zeb off his feet. Only faintly did he hear his friends cry out his name.

 _Kal...Alex...what's happenin'? What are they doin' to you? You're not-_

The next stab of pain laid him out flat, a terrible cry escaping his throat. His eyes _burned_ like an overloaded power core, feeling like they might just go up in flames right there in his skull. When he managed to wrench them back open, it was to the horrifying sight of the purple color draining from his own fur.

 _Zeb...I'm sorry. I'm_ _ **so sorry.**_

The Lasat screamed in agony, writhing on the dusty ground.

"Zeb, _what's wrong?_ " Hera demanded as she dropped to her knees beside him.

"Alex... _Alex!_ " he cried out helplessly between screams.

"It's Kallus," Kanan said, finally putting two and two together. "Something's happening to Kallus."

Zeb keened, in terror and anguish every moment, half-wishing he could put his own eyes out as they betrayed him, color by color.

 _Alex..._ _ **please**_ _...don't do this to me!_ he begged silently, tears beginning to stream from his eyes as the base's many and varied shades of brown began to fade from his sight. Distantly, he became aware of Hera's slender arms around his much larger frame, offering what comfort she could.

"Just hold on," she tried to soothe. "It'll be over soon."

" _Orra...orra_...no... _zakyre_ ," he mumbled in a half-intelligible mishmash of Basic and Lasana. As painful as this was, he didn't _want_ it to be over. When it was over...when the colors were gone..." _Alex_... _Alex!_ "

The last color to fade was the shade of brown that colored Atollon's soil, and it didn't go quickly. The color bled from the dirt like blood seeping from a wound, draining away until there was nothing left.

Abandoned in a world of black and white, Zeb stretched out his hand, fingers clawing up a handful of the colorless soil; and as he watched the gray dirt crumble through his fingers, he felt something inside of him break.

"It's over," he said softly. Suddenly empty of tears, he just lay there in Hera's arms, drained in body and spirit. "It's over now. He's gone."

At first, he didn't hear his friends – his _family_ – whispering their condolences. All he could do was stare at the dirt, as if he could will the color back into it just by yearning hard enough. As if...Alex could still be-

He couldn't really explain it, but this loss felt more personal than any he'd ever experienced before. As deep a loss as it had been to bear, the deaths of his family had come mostly at the hands of sickness, and Ash and Chala had died fighting offworld. Painful as it was, it had still been far and away from him.

This? This had not been far and away. It had been intense and immediate, as if he were experiencing it with him. It had not been a quick, merciful death, either. It would've been slow, drawn out, no doubt painful, each fading color a mere echo of what Alex had suffered.

No! Not now. He couldn't think about this right now.

"Guys...go- go on," he started to protest through all their words as he slowly began to pull himself back up. "We can cry later. We've got a rebellion to save."

"Zeb," Ezra started to protest, "he was your-"

"Zeb's right. There'll be time to mourn once we make certain we're not all going to be joining him," Hera declared, offering the Lasat one last hug before shifting into command mode as she got back to her feet.

"You sure you're gonna be all right, big guy?" Kanan asked him.

"All right as I _can_ be," he replied with a stiff shrug, pulling himself back together piece by painful piece.

"You all clear out," Rex's voice suddenly joined in. Zeb looked up to see him quickly approaching the little knot of Spectres. "You've got jobs to do. _I'll_ take care of him."

They all agreed, silently conceding to the clone's expertise in this arena and offering Zeb a hug or a pound on the back before heading in their own directions. Rex helped Zeb climb back to his feet, sharing a long look with him.

"Are you here?" the old soldier finally asked him, and it was only with great effort that Zeb managed to pull himself away from the human's stern gaze.

"Doesn't matter," he said as he attempted to start back toward the _Ghost_. "We got some Imps to burn."

"It _matters,_ " Rex snapped at him, seizing his arm in a durasteel grip before he could move too far away. "You think I haven't seen a soldier go into battle with that exact same look in his eyes? _Lookin'_ for a fight to lose? If you go up there with _that_ attitude, you'll get exactly what you're lookin' for. And I do mean exactly."

"Yeah? And?" Zeb threw the words pointedly over his shoulder. "What else am I supposed to do? I can't change what happened. I can't- I can't save him. There's nothin' to be done except take down as many of 'em as I can before they get me. I...I can't _do_ this, Rex," he admitted. "I'm not you."

For a moment, there was the look of pity he'd expected in Rex's eyes. But then, just as quickly, Zeb had the odd experience of seeing pure _rage_ flare up in the old clone's eyes. Rex had two default expressions. The first was some variant of laid back amusement. The second was the steely-eyed terseness of his military persona. This was neither of them. It was fiery, ungovernable anger.

"So," the soldier began in a voice tipped with molten carbonite, "is _this_ how the captain of the Lasan High Honor Guard honors his fallen partner? Not even bothering to stay alive?"

"There _is_ no High Honor Guard. _Not anymore!_ " he snarled as he jerked his arm free of Rex's grip, muttering bitterly as he moved to head away again. "There's no Captain Orrelios anymore either."

 _Well, Alex, I hope you're satisfied now...wherever you are. You've finally destroyed me. I didn't thi-_

Zeb wasn't in any way prepared for the blow when it came. It was easy enough for him to keep his feet, redistributing his own weight to wind up in a crouch as he came back to face Rex; the blow wasn't much, wouldn't even leave a mark in the long run. All the Lasat was really left with was surprise that the punch had been thrown at all.

"You really think this is what Kallus'd want for you? To just lie down and die? No way. No _karking way!_ He gave his life to try and save us, to save _you!_ I get that you're hurting. _Nobody_ understands that better than I do, but you can't just quit. If you go out there and get yourself killed, it's little better than _spitting_ on his sacrifice. You're not going _anywhere_ until you've got your head on straight."

Zeb growled in anger and sorrow and frustration. Would he ever even know what had happened to his partner? Would he ever be able to learn what sacrifice Alexsandr Kallus had made for them – for _him?_ Or would that one brave human simply fade away into the annals of the war, forever lost within its history?

 _NO!_ He _wasn't_ going to let that happen. If it took the last breath in his body, he was going to learn his soulmate's fate. He wasn't going to allow Alex to be forgotten, because that vow was all he had to give to the man who'd given him color. And if he had to stick around a little bit longer in order to make that happen, so be it.

"I'm still not sure I like that look," Rex said as the Lasat rose back to full height, "but it's getting better."

Zeb sighed. "You _would'a_ been happy to die, though...after you lost her?"

"Yeah," Rex admitted. "Not sayin' it didn't hurt. Hells, it was the worst pain I've ever experienced, and that's sayin' a lot, but...then I thought about what I'd want for her...if our places were reversed. If I had died and she had lived...I'd've wanted her to _go on_ living. Even if it was painful, it would've made me feel like my own death _meant_ something...that it wasn't for nothing. What would you want for him, if your places could be changed?" the clone asked him.

Looking inside, Zeb found that the old soldier was right. Even though he couldn't believe for a second that Alex would have been weak enough to just give up after losing him, in that moment of abject grief and despair after the words would've vanished from his skin, he would've told his partner to _live_ – to honor what had been between them, even if it was hard...even if it was painful. How could he do anything less for Alex now?

Closing his eyes a moment to block out the now colorless world, the former guardsman nodded resolutely, reaching a hand back to touch the binding cloth still wrapped around his bo-rifle, feeling the difference in texture between the Imperial fabric and his own traditional wrapping. The tiny piece of his soulmate he'd kept with him – now all that he had left of him.

"I'd want the galaxy for him," he answered softly. "I'd want him to live."

"Good. Looks like I finally got you back with us," Rex said, pounding him on the shoulder with a knowing smirk. " _Now_ we can go burn some Imps."

XxX

Alex was largely catatonic during the battle above Atollon. Distantly, he was aware of the events playing out, but he just couldn't bring himself to respond to them in any capacity. All he could picture in his mind's eye was a look of rage and anguish on his partner's face as he battled against the Seventh Fleet. He could picture Zeb's pain-filled hatred so clearly there were moments he half-thought he could feel the touch of it in his mind – in his heart.

 _Zeb...I'm here. I'm still here for you,_ he wished he could cry out to him, reforge their shattered bond just by wishing hard enough. _Please...stay alive. Don't do anything foolish for_ _ **my**_ _sake._ _ **Please!**_

He was vaguely aware of Thrawn talking about leading a ground assault, but he didn't really rejoin the real world until he noticed a stormtrooper handing the grand admiral an item that shouldn't have even been aboard the _Chimaera_ , let alone in Thrawn's hands.

"Sir," the trooper saluted as he handed Alex's bo-rifle to the Chiss.

"Thank you," Thrawn returned coolly as he took the weapon in hand. All at once, the ex-Imperial was struck by a visceral flashback to the moment the rifle had been given to _him._

 _"Then...you have the heart of a warrior...Alexsandr Kallus. Do not let them take it from you," he said, offering up his weapon in as firm a motion as he was able._

"That...when did you-?" he mumbled stupidly, shifting in his bonds as if to reach for the weapon.

"I had it brought from your quarters," the Chiss explained while examining the bo-rifle. And the distant way in which he catalogued every last one of the weapon's features, the clinical manner in which he looked at something that was so very precious to Alex...the impersonal nature of it lit a spark of pure _rage_ in the former agent's heart.

"That isn't yours," he growled, his entire frame trembling with anger. "You _have not_ won it from me. You have no right to even _look_ at that weapon, let alone to wield it!"

"Truly?" Thrawn asked him as he slung the bo-rifle onto his back. "You do not consider your sound defeat in our little battle of wits to be a loss? Because you seem quite defeated to me, Kallus."

"Defeated, perhaps, but not honorably, _not_ by right of combat. Not in any way that _matters,_ " he snapped. "No adherent of the _Boosahn Keeraw_ would acknowledge your claim as legitimate."

"I am actually _counting_ on that," Thrawn informed him. "Call it my 'ace in the hole' if you will. _If_ your rebel friends put in a good showing on the ground and insist upon being intransigent, I intend to goad them with _your_ fate. If the Lasat's experience of the severance was not enough to instill the necessary rage in their hearts, then the mere presence of this weapon should certainly do so. It will cause them to react on an emotional level – to give in to anger and to make foolish mistakes. I have witnessed your comrades achieve victory through so many unconventional avenues, Kallus, that I will leave _nothing_ to chance now. Your friends _shall_ taste defeat at my hands."

Alex's first instinct would have been to crumble beneath such a threat. As always, just when he thought it wasn't possible to cause Garazeb Orrelios more pain, some fresh horror was spun from the galaxy's existing threads. What it would _do_ to Zeb's heart...to see that weapon in Thrawn's hands...but no. Something in his own outrage had awakened him to his situation, recalled him to his purpose, and he was _not_ going to give Thrawn the satisfaction of seeing him break a second time.

"I've been in your position before," he warned the grand admiral, "only to have these rebels pull victory from certain defeat. They will _not_ be intimidated by your games."

"Perhaps _they_ will not be, but there is at least one who _will_ , and sometimes that is all it may take," Thrawn reminded him, subtly twisting the metaphorical knife deeper. "You and I are not the same, Kallus, as these rebels are about to learn."

Alex gave the Chiss no more than a glare in reaction as he exited the bridge, no matter how much the threat against Zeb stabbed his heart. He didn't know how, but he had to find _some way_ of getting back to his partner. Thrawn had used him to hurt the Lasat one time too many. He couldn't let it go on.

 _Zeb, I'm begging you...don't let him get to you. Stay strong. I'll come back to you. I_ _ **promise**_ _I will._

XxX

Zeb took the notion of burning Imperials maybe a little _too_ much to heart in the ensuing battle, both in the upper atmosphere and back on the ground. At the outer edges of his awareness, he could half-sense the worry of Kanan, Hera, and Rex as he obliterated enemies with extreme prejudice, but he couldn't let himself acknowledge that fear. All he could let himself care about was striking back against the powers that had taken everything from him. First his world and his people, his freedom...

...and now Alex. He was _not_ going to let them take anything else.

He kept that promise firmly in mind even as their fleeing group was surrounded by Imperial troops, even as the fiery-eyed demon emerged from the smoke and rubble with a triumphant sneer upon his face.

"And now, Captain Syndulla, I will accept your formal surrender, or you will watch your friends perish, one by one. Beginning with the Jedi."

Maybe there was a response to the Imperial's threat. Maybe there wasn't. Zeb didn't know, because while the Chiss was talking, he became aware of a distinct shape outlined against the man's figure through the grit and smoke filling the air.

The Chiss had a bo-rifle strapped to his back.

 _Alex's bo-rifle!_

A raw _scream_ of fury and pain tore free of the former guardsman's throat as the disparate pieces of knowledge merged into certainty in his mind. Thrawn. _Thrawn_ was the one who'd killed his soulmate. And now he _dared_ to walk around with his love's bo-rifle displayed with such impunity?

Garazeb Orrelios would allow the galaxy to fall in ruin beneath the Empire before he _ever_ allowed such a hideous transgression against _everything_ he held dear. When he threw himself at Grand Admiral Thrawn, it was without thought or mercy.

"Hold your fire," he was faintly aware of the Chiss ordering as he came at him, the same triumphant sneer still twisting the corners of his mouth. "This one is _mine._ "

"Wait!"

" _ZEB!_ "

He _heard_ his friends calling out to him, but he didn't register their words on a conscious level. All he knew in that moment was Thrawn's arrogant face, but just as he was about to bring his bo-rifle crashing down on it, the familiar zing of Alex's own rifle igniting sounded in his ears. The golden crackle of its electrified tips blossomed at the edges of his vision as Thrawn raised the reconfigured bo-staff up to meet his. Zeb felt the shock of the two weapons clashing travel the full length of his arms, thrumming deep in his chest as he glared at his enemy through their crossed staffs.

" _YOU!_ " the former guardsman roared in rage. "It was _you!_ "

"You will have to be more specific, Captain Orrelios," the grand admiral said in his unsettlingly calm fashion. "I have done many things in my time. To which were you referring?"

"You _know!_ "

"I do not. That would be why I asked."

Giving a fresh roar of anger, Zeb forced the Chiss back with all his strength, breaking their deadlock. He delivered several blows in quick succession, which his opponent easily blocked. Snarling in frustration, he tried for a sweep to the Imperial's head, but was dodged just as easily.

"You killed my soulmate," the Lasat growled, sidestepping an experimental jab from the Chiss.

"It is possible. I have killed several rebels," Thrawn conceded with a knowing sneer. "Who was this mate of yours?"

That was more than Zeb could take. Howling in rage, he delivered blow after furious blow to his enemy. When he finally managed to get a jab in with one of his own electrified bayonets, it seemed it was only through the sheer force of his anger rather than the merit of his years of training.

Thrawn dropped to one knee with a small grunt of pain, and though that pain edged his expression, the look in his eyes was no less confident as he looked up at Zeb.

"You oughta know," Zeb hissed as he raised his weapon overhead for a downward strike. "You're holdin' the bo-rifle you _stole from him!_ "

"Ah, yes. The traitor," Thrawn began before Zeb could deliver his strike. "I did indeed _destroy_ him. Would you like to know what his final words were? Before the _end?_ "

For that small moment, Zeb hesitated, poised on the edge of his downward swing, trembling minutely.

Alex's last words?

"Zeb, don't listen to him!" Kanan's voice pierced his awareness. "Kill him _now!_ "

"Zeb," the Chiss began, his even tone suddenly possessing a strangely gentle quality, "I'm sorry. I'm _so sorry._ "

"Zeb, you _mustn't listen!_ " Rex was shouting at him.

But he was frozen, trapped on the verge of his killing blow, the galaxy collapsing in on him once more.

 _Those words...I heard those words...when it was happening...when I lost him. It's not a lie. Alex...my Alex!_

The sound that was torn from his throat held no rage. It was part despair and part grief, but _all_ anguish. It raised the hairs on the necks of everyone who heard it, almost more bestial than sentient. The cry gave voice to a devastation so complete, it could've blotted out the stars.

 _I have nothing left. Alex...I'm_ _ **sorry.**_

The former guardsman delivered his strike, but his moment of all-consuming agony had allowed Thrawn the moment he needed to regain himself. As Zeb brought his own rifle down, the Chiss raised Alex's to bear the brunt of the blow, pressing back into the fight with smooth ease.

As the oncoming storm rolled in, mirroring Zeb's own inner turmoil, he lost count of the hits he and the Imperial traded. While Thrawn had clearly had no training in bo-rifle combat, he was self-possessed and confident as a fighter overall, so that Zeb, despite his own decades of training, was kept completely off-balance by his own fury and pain. He couldn't keep this up forever, and that was made plain to him when his opponent managed to get in a hit, actually stabbing Zeb with Alex's weapon, sending an even more powerful current through his body.

The Lasat went down with a pained cry, body twitching badly with the strength of the electric current.

"Well," Thrawn began as he stood over Zeb, Alex's bo-rifle poised to deliver the final strike, "rather it seems the Lasat will be the first to perish, but it makes little difference to me. Have you anything to say, Captain Syndulla?"

Though he couldn't properly see what was happening around him, Zeb was relieved when Hera gave no response. He just couldn't do this anymore. He had failed his people. He had failed _both_ his families. And he had failed _Alex_. He was ready for everything to be over, to die in combat, as he should have a long time ago...and...maybe...maybe to see his partner's face again.

 _Please...forgive me...for not avenging you._

But in that moment, just as he'd hit his lowest point, the former guardsman's eyes flicked open and he caught a glimpse of something in the dust.

It wasn't much. It was just a tiny little stone. In the grand scheme of Atollon's geologic history, it was practically nothing. But to Zeb, it had suddenly become everything.

Because this stone was _amber._

Inhaling sharply, he reached out a hand to grip the little chip of rock, shining like a sacred light in his stark and cold world. For so many years, that color had been his curse and his comfort. Now it was his savior, the spark guiding him back from the brink of despair.

 _He's alive. Alex is_ _ **alive!**_

 _He's alive...and he's in_ _ **danger.**_

Once he'd comprehended that, Zeb was instantly back in the fight, lifting his bo-rifle to block Thrawn's downward strike. With a look of pointed fury in his eyes, he demanded, "Where is he?"

Thrawn's only response as they grappled was a simple lift of the eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"He's _not dead,_ " Zeb snarled as he forced the Chiss back. "I don't know what you did to him, but he's _not dead! Tell me where he is!_ "

"Interesting," the grand admiral commented, his voice rising only a single note in pitch as he disengaged from their deadlock. "Most interesting."

"I'm only gonna ask one more time, Imperial _dog!_ " Zeb growled, whirling his bo-rifle around before striking one of the tips against the ground and sending a particularly fierce crackle of electricity into the air. "What. Did you do. _With my partner?!_ "

"It won't be that simple, Captain Orrelios," Thrawn returned, tone back to being as even as ever. "After all, I did not deceive you. I _did_ destroy Alexsandr Kallus. Let us see if you still consider him worth the having if you ever manage to reunite."

Zeb gave a vicious roar before launching a fresh onslaught at the grand admiral, unleashing every ounce of his considerable skill with the weapon.

"Imperial scum!" Zeb shouted, using a spinning move he'd taken from watching Alex fight, delivering a succession of quick blows and pressing his advantage. Then he collapsed his weapon and slung it on his back in nearly the same motion, rolling into an acrobatic move he never would've used in a fair duel with a non-Lasat, but right from the start this had never been a fair duel – not with the way Thrawn had attempted to manipulate his heart.

The former guardsman shifted to hold his weight on his hands, reaching back with a foot to seize Alex's bo-rifle from the Chiss' surprised hands. When he rolled back into a standing position, it was with _both_ bo-rifles trained on the grand admiral, his own redeployed in staff mode.

"I'll choke it from your throat if I have to," he growled, the twin sparks from the two bo-rifles illuminating the mildly impressed look on the Imperial's face in the ever-dimming light.

"Well-played, Lasat. Much though I respect your notions of warrior pride, honorable combat will only take you so far. I did not come here for honor or glory," he said before slipping a blaster from his hip. Zeb barely had time to shift away before he fired, taking a nasty graze to his side.

Thrawn really might've finished things there had the heavens not suddenly opened up with the rage of the lightning storm, the Bendu unleashing its fury upon the little world. Zeb's friends had to drag him away from the fight in order to seize their only chance to escape.

The Lasat found himself lit from within by a newly burning fire as the _Ghost_ fled Atollon. Where a few hours before there had been only crushing grief and despair there was now new hope, hope and purpose. By rights, he should've been terrified, and it wasn't as if he _wasn't_. His soulmate was a prisoner of the Empire, after all. He could be _anywhere._ He could be imprisoned on Lothal, transferred to the brig of another star destroyer, or even thrown into a high security cell on Coruscant by now. But he was _still alive_. The small chip of amber still somehow clutched in Zeb's hand confirmed that. He had been beyond Zeb's reach before, but now there was hope, however slender, to rescue him, to finally bring him home. Zeb had no idea where to begin, but he knew he would search for the rest of his life if he had to...until he found his Alex.

Even so, he needn't have worried. Just as the _Ghost_ was preparing to join Ezra and Sabine for the jump out, a tiny distress call reached the rebel vessel, the familiar and comforting lines of the Fulcrum symbol lighting up its displays.

"We've got an incoming transmission," Hera muttered in surprise.

"It's Alex!" Zeb cried out almost before she'd finished speaking. "He's sending coordinates!"

Hera nodded as she zeroed in on the location. "I've got an escape pod on my scope."

While the Twi'lek followed the scope, Zeb scanned the chaos of the surrounding star field, finally seeing the tiny flicker of a pod emerge from among the destroyed ships. He swallowed uneasily, only too aware that every moment Alex drifted free was a moment he might be obliterated by a stray TIE shot.

 _Please...Alex...hang on. Just hang on. We're almost there...almost...I've got you. I'm comin'._

The Lasat couldn't help but hold his breath until he actually felt the _Ghost_ latch onto the escape pod. Before Hera had even finished muttering, "Got him," he was already barreling out of the cockpit, straight down to the lock port. He hardly felt the pain of his own injuries. All of his concern was for Alex.

Half-elated and half-terrified of what he might find when the hatch finally opened up, Zeb was only marginally surprised to see the tiny door slide open to reveal Alexsandr Kallus huddled inside the tiny space, tears pouring silently down his face. But in spite of the tears, those amber eyes were still the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen, the only point of light in an otherwise colorless void.

"Zeb," his partner exhaled in a small, strangled voice, "I'm sorry. Stars, I'm _so sorry!_ "

As he reached into the pod, arms wrapping firmly but tenderly around the distraught ex-Imperial, he immediately began to soothe him. " _Ze ze, ze ze, ni ashkerra,_ " he breathed in Lasana, pulling Alex from the pod. As they collapsed together just outside the hatch, Zeb cradled him in his arms, running gentle fingers through his hair, up and down his back, breathing in the scent of him.

 _My love...my love...ni ashkerra..._

"Zeb...my Zeb... _darling,_ " he sobbed heavily, clinging to the former guardsman as if he were the last solid thing in the galaxy. "It's- _all my fault!_ Please...please forgive me. I didn't...oh, s _\- stars_ , I...I _couldn't_ -"

"Shh," Zeb soothed his partner, smiling as he held him, pressing a loving kiss to the top of his head. Despite the human's clear distress, he couldn't help but be overjoyed to be holding him in his arms, _alive._ A few tears of joy trickled from his own eyes as he dropped kiss after kiss on top of his head. "It's all right now. You're safe. You're _home._ I've got you. I've got you."

XxX

Kallus hadn't truly expected it to be difficult to pull one over on Pryce. Ruthless and ambitious though she was, clever she was not. She couldn't grasp the subtle espionage sensibilities the ex-ISB agent had mastered in order to stay alive. She was none the wiser when he created the opening for his escape, easily slipping his stormtrooper guard.

It wasn't until he was well away from the _Chimaera_ , drifting free in the midst of the fighting, that the horror of his ordeal began to catch up with him once again.

 _Your soulmark is gone._

No.

 _Your bond with Zeb is gone._

Not now.

 _They_ _ **stole**_ _it from you. Thrawn destroyed it._

He couldn't think about this _now_. And yet...

 _Can things...ever be what they might have been? Will we- ever be able to..._

"Zeb...oh, Zeb...my love..." he whispered several times, his useless thoughts repeating themselves over and over in his head. Would he ever even be able to _call_ the Lasat that? Without the soul bond, was this connection of theirs too fragile? Was there any hope it might be strong enough to survive this war? Was it possible to regain his mark? There were too many questions and not enough answers, and it was all beginning to weigh _so heavily_ on him. He didn't have any control over the reaction when the tears began to burn their way from his eyes.

His eyes...his amber eyes...the eyes Zeb adored so much...now nothing more than chips of cold slate in a faded world, utterly lost to his partner's sight. By all the stars in all the heavens, what had he _done_ to his partner?

 _Not now. Not now! You can't lose it_ _ **now!**_

But it was out of his hands. The tears continued to flow as the _Ghost_ locked onto him, spilling ever faster down his cheeks. When he suddenly found himself gazing into Zeb's worried, relieved face, the dammed well of emotions he'd been bottling up inside him finally broke and he was sobbing openly as he collapsed into the Lasat's arms, needing so desperately to be near him, to hold him and be held by him. And it seemed that need was just as strong in his would-be partner. Zeb held just as tightly to him, cradling him against his broad chest, whispering things the former Imperial could only half understand. Whether the Lasat still cared for him, though, was made quite plain in the strength of his embrace. While the tears flowed, hot and fast, down Kallus' cheeks, Zeb pressed an endless stream of kisses to his face, seeming like he was attempting to replace each tear with a kiss. They held each other like that until Kallus was empty of tears, completely exhausted.

"Zeb..." he breathed quietly, fingers tracing hesitantly through the former guardsman's velvet-like fur, "I'm _so sorry._ Can you _ever_ forgive me?"

"For what?" Zeb asked in patent confusion, pulling back a hairsbreadth to have a look at his face, taking a moment to wipe away any lingering tears.

" _I_ did this to us. It's _my fault_ \- the bond is broken," he confessed as he pulled back his tattered sleeve, revealing the stretch of bare skin where Zeb's first words to him had been written out. "Thrawn, he- he had an inquisitor _erase_ my soulmark."

" _Ashla alkyrreh,_ " Zeb muttered in horrified Lasana as he reached out a hand to touch the pale skin. Kallus couldn't quite help flinching at the touch, but he didn't pull away. " _They_ did this? Those...those _tulchuurri!_ " he snarled, growling low in his throat for several minutes before managing to come up with the word in Basic. "Those _beasts._ "

"What's wrong?" Kanan's voice suddenly interrupted. Kallus looked up to see the blind Jedi making his way to them. There was a tenseness to his shoulders the ex-agent found reminded him unsettlingly of a field medic trying to maintain his composure.

"Kanan, they...the Empire erased his _soulmark,_ " Zeb explained as the knight knelt beside them. "They did this! They hurt my _mate,_ Kanan!"

The Jedi inhaled sharply upon hearing the news. His fingers trembled faintly as he traced them through the air just above Kallus' arm. Despite the fact that there was no expression to see, the ex-agent could've half-sworn he felt the horror the man was endeavoring to conceal.

"Kanan?" he started, looking at the knight with a small spark of hope in his chest. A Force user had done this to him. Perhaps another one could...? "Can you heal it?"

Kanan crouched there beside them for several moments, searching desperately for comfort that was not there. Ultimately, he shook his head. "I've never felt anything like this before. It's like an open wound in the Force. I- I can't..." his voice broke then, a swell of pity apparent in the way his shoulders slumped. "If there's a way to heal this damage through the Force, I don't know how. Maybe a Jedi _Master,_ but...there's nothing _I_ can do. I'm sorry."

Kallus nodded, squeezing his eyelids shut as a few more tears slipped free of his wrung out eyes.

It was over then. There was nothing to be done. They were-

Kallus may have gasped slightly in surprise upon finding himself lifted into the Lasat's arms. He _certainly_ would never admit to squeaking, regardless of what any witnesses to the event may or may not claim.

"Kanan, can you let Ezra know I'm borrowin' our bunk if we dock with 'em any time in the next few hours?" Zeb called over his shoulder as he carried Kallus further into the _Ghost_.

If Kanan responded, Kallus didn't catch it. He was a little too preoccupied with the fact that he was being bodily _carried_ , as if he were a child or a helpless invalid.

"You- you know I _can_ still walk," he attempted to point out to the Lasat.

"I know," Zeb returned, never once breaking stride. "Just didn't seem like you _should_ be. Atrocities of war aside, he...he gave you a real workin' over."

"That's interesting coming from the soldier who appears to have a burn in his side," Kallus commented. "And...is that a _stab_ wound in your shoulder?"

"Maybe," Zeb grunted. "I sorta- got into it with your old boss."

"You fought _Thrawn?_ " Kallus demanded in shocked anger. "I mean- I knew he'd planned to bait you, but you _actually_ -"

"I _had_ to, Alex," he snapped, his grip on the ex-Imperial tightening. "Far as I knew, he...you were...he was the one who..." Zeb groaned in frustration, banging a fist against the wall next to an access panel. The door slid open, but Zeb didn't enter. He just stood there, breathing heavily while Kallus looked up at him. Finally, he sighed. "Look at me. Can't even say it."

"Zeb...I'm so sorry," he returned in a quiet, stilted voice. "This is all my fault. I couldn't stop them. I...what you must have _gone_ through-"

"Shut it," Zeb grunted, his voice caught somewhere between anger and exhaustion as he finally carried Kallus into the room. "I don't wanna hear that from you right now."

"I- I'm sorry?" he mumbled in confusion.

"You're talkin' like this really _is_ your fault. Like you're to blame for somethin' _they_ did to _you._ That's a load of bantha shit," he snapped, and though his tone was harsh, he was still gentle in setting Kallus down on the lower of two bunks. Then he started to dig through a compartment tucked into the ship's bulkhead. "I get why you feel guilty for what's in our past, but I'm not gonna let you bear the burden of somethin' you had _no control over!_ " he growled, banging the compartment shut once he'd found what he was looking for. When he finally joined Kallus on the bunk, it was with a med kit in hand.

"Zeb..." he began uncertainly, reaching a hesitant hand out toward his partner.

" _You were dead!_ " the Lasat burst out suddenly, as if he hadn't meant to let the words escape. As Kallus took in his appearance, he found his massive shoulders trembling, his breath shuddering, and his eyes wide in near panic. "I...what could I do? It all just- disappeared...all the color."

"Oh...Zeb," he mumbled in misery, gradually letting his hand rest on the former guardsman's shoulder. Zeb quickly latched onto it, raising Kallus' much smaller hand to his cheek and holding it there.

"It was either me or him. I was gonna get revenge for your blood or die tryin'."

"Don't say that," Kallus bit out, fingers briefly digging into the Lasat's facial hair. "If I'm not allowed to take blame, you're _certainly_ not allowed to talk about dying. Only...if you meant to either win or...what happened?" he asked, also finding himself unable to say the words. "Did- did you-?"

"Nah, I'm not _that_ lucky. Grand Admiral Fancy Pants is still walkin' around. I just- it happened when he was about to make his last blow," Zeb said, slipping a hand down to his belt and pulling something from one of the pouches. "I saw this in the dust and I _knew_. I knew you were still alive."

Kallus swallowed hard when he saw the tiny chip of amber cradled in Zeb's large hand. For a moment, he was reminded of the meteorite Zeb had found on Bahryn – the light that had kept them warm and, in the end, guided him from the darkness. He smiled softly as he reached forward to touch the tiny stone.

"You still have amber?" he asked as he looked up at the Lasat. Zeb smiled blearily, reaching forward with his free hand to touch Kallus' face.

"Yeah," he mumbled, running a thumb along his cheek, just beneath the eye. "Maybe I never lost it. Who knows? I just know it kept me goin'," he said softly, something in his expression shifting. Kallus recognized the shift, remembering it from the handful of times they'd stolen kisses in the field. But now...now they wouldn't _have_ to be stolen. And before Zeb could move in to claim that first kiss, Kallus was leaning in against him, pressing his lips against the Lasat's in a tender, searching kiss.

He felt Zeb grin faintly into the kiss, his lips warm and soft. While warm was certainly an adjective he associated with the former guardsman, soft was something entirely new. He'd never had time to truly _experience_ Zeb's kiss before. Now? Now he was able to languish in the moment, just feeling, reveling in the sensation of his partner against him – the strength and the gentleness of him.

"Zeb," he exhaled on a shuddered breath when they finally needed to separate for air, though they remained pressed close together, foreheads resting against each other. The words Zeb breathed against his lips were spoken in Lasana, and he only understood about thirty percent of them, but there was such utter conviction in them, such adoration, that they sent a tremor down his back just the same.

" _L'ashkerrir an. L'ashkerrir an,_ " he whispered over and over again, fingers tracing delicately through Kallus' hair, along his ears and cheeks. And only after several minutes of this did he seem to remember that Kallus could only partly understand him, so he made the switch back to Basic, taking a moment to remember how the language was spoken. "I...I love you. I love you. I love you _so much._ I thought I'd lost my chance to say it. I _love you,_ Alex," he said, pressing kiss after kiss to the ex-agent's eyes.

"R- really?" Kallus asked weakly, feeling a heady rush from the sound of his own name. It had been so long since he'd heard it. "It- it wasn't just the bond holding us together? You truly-"

"Really truly," Zeb interrupted him with a finger to his lips. "I love you, Alexsandr Kallus. It's never been about the soul bond. It was _you!_ It was always you. I- I think I saw it...even back then...on the day the world was endin'. I saw the truth of you that day. I _see you_. I see you in color and I see you in gray. Whether or not we have a soul bond, nothin's gonna change the way I feel about you, so put those useless thoughts outta your head. This is it, man. You'n me...if...if you still want me, that is," Zeb finished, suddenly looking sheepish at everything he'd said, the fur above his shoulders fluffing out in an almost comical fashion.

"I'll have none of that nonsense, you fool Lasat. Why do you think I'm standing here now? I promised I would come back to you," he said, leaning in once more to press a brief but passionate kiss to his partner's lips. When he pulled back, it was with a small smile on his face. "But...if you've managed to hold onto a color...do you think it might be possible for my mark to return?"

Zeb shrugged, reaching down to brush his fingers against the pale skin that had once contained the brilliantly colored letters of the soulmark. "Who knows? I sure don't. If anybody can figure out how, it's Kanan. He once told me the Jedi gave theirs up voluntarily. Maybe they can be got back."

Kallus really wasn't sure about that one. If given up to the Force or the Ashla or whichever, whether voluntary or involuntary, who could say whether it was possible to regain what had been lost? He had taken a foolish gamble by remaining with the Empire after even the possibility of being made, and he'd paid the price for that gamble. But...maybe it didn't matter so terribly much? Zeb still cared for him, after all, and he _knew_ he still cared for Zeb. They would have a chance to grow together. So were they all right? He really didn't know. What he had been through had been horrific. It was among the deepest, most heinous of violations and it would haunt his nightmares for years to come. There was no way to downplay the seriousness of what had happened to him, but...maybe it could be worked through? With time and patience and...the love of his partner?

"Either way, if we're gonna get through this, we'd better make sure you're gonna live to see the next day," Zeb pointed out, unpacking the med kit. "Let's get you patched up."

"Only if we can get _you_ taken care of as well," Kallus insisted. "You'll be no good to anyone half dead."

"Sure. But you were obviously injured first, so you're gonna be treated first," Zeb said, and in any other situation, the words would have seemed matter-of-fact, but the Lasat very plainly had a triumphant smirk on his face at being able to get his own way. "Now let's get you outta that Imperial monkey suit."

Alexsandr Kallus was a fully trained espionage agent. As such, he tended to pride himself on being unreadable. But after everything that had happened, everything he had been through, he could hardly be expected to keep back the blush that tinged his pale cheeks. He didn't hesitate in complying with Zeb's order, but he was at least grateful when the Lasat looked away from him to retrieve his supplies. It gave him the chance to master himself before removing his armor and battered uniform jacket.

" _Alex,_ " Zeb started in shock when he finally looked up at him, leaving the former Imperial self-conscious enough to want to pull the jacket back on.

"It- it can't be as bad as it looks, I'm sure," he tried to protest.

"Not that," Zeb said, shaking his head as he reached a hand forward to trace his fingers along the scars on his arms and chest. " _These._ "

"Oh," he mumbled, looking away from the Lasat as his clawed fingers trailed gently over the marks – the scars from his _first_ encounter with a Lasat. "It's- these are..." But he could come up with nothing. All he had was a deep-seated sense of shame, still lingering in the darkest part of his heart, even after all this time. It had been about his soulmark then, too – the mark he had fought so hard to protect and honor...and no longer had.

"This... _he_ did this to you? That bloke on Onderon?" Zeb asked, a tiny spark of rage lighting in his round eyes with every inch of scar tissue his fingers canvased.

"Yes," Kallus whispered distantly, struggling to keep himself from slipping back into even more unpleasant memories.

"Wish I had him here," the former guardsman growled in a quiet, menacing voice. "I'd tear his kriffin' head off."

"Well...I shall be sure to let you know if we ever run into him," Kallus said, subtly letting his partner know that the offer was not at all unappreciated.

There was something heartbreaking in watching Zeb's face crumple with each scar his fingers mapped. The expression spoke of guilt – guilt at not being able to prevent what had happened, at not being there for him. And even though it was ridiculous at the level of logic, Kallus knew he would feel the same sort of guilt at being unable to prevent any scars Zeb was carrying. The worst of it, though, came when the Lasat flinched upon coming into contact with the scars that began at his right hip.

"It continues," he said in response to Zeb's unasked question. "Around the hip, down the thigh to the knee. I told you he half tore me apart to find my mark."

"Then he truly did shame to his training...if he ever _was_ a guardsman," Zeb growled quietly, hand resting on his hip for a moment, causing Kallus to tremble pleasantly, pleased with the gentle feel of his partner's touch. Deciding he was prepared to leave the past where it belonged, even if only for one night, he gazed back up at the former guardsman with a reassuring look.

"Zeb...it's done. There's nothing you can do about these scars. But perhaps we might keep new ones from forming," he suggested.

Shaking himself off, Zeb agreed with a gentle chuckle. "Right," he said, beginning to treat the ex-Imperial's wounds as best he could, applying salve and bacta patches where needed and taking notes of where and how Kallus was hurting for a medical droid to peruse properly later. Just as soon as Zeb pronounced himself done, he started to stand from the bunk. "Well, we should probably get back to the others and-"

"Oh, no you don't," Kallus protested sharply, grabbing hold of his arm. "You're not going anywhere until _I've_ seen to _your_ injuries. Armor off, if you please."

Zeb gave a tired smile at that one, but he didn't argue. He removed first his vambraces, then the guards on his hands, and finally his chest armor, making it much easier for him to roll his battle suit down to his waist. And despite his wounds, the ex-Imperial would freely admit to letting his gaze linger on the Lasat warrior's physique longer than was strictly necessary.

"s'not that deep," Zeb said in a strange, almost rumbling tone when Kallus finally turned his attention to the stab wound Thrawn had dealt him just below the point where his chest armor typically stopped. "No blood, either. The current from your bo-rifle cauterized it pretty well."

" _My_ rifle," he repeated bitterly as he spread salve over the wound, the mere thought of Thrawn using _his weapon_ against Zeb enough to make him want to vomit up what little he'd eaten in the last twenty-four hours. "Still...you of all people ought to know better. Such an injury must still be treated. Otherwise infection might set in," he said, finishing the job with a bacta patch over the injury. Before Zeb could attempt to squirm away again, he moved a hand to the blaster wound in his side. Zeb winced at the contact, but Kallus could tell that he was keeping most of his reaction back. "And this? A lucky shot?"

" _No,_ " the Lasat ground out. "That was Thrawn bein' a dirty cheat when he was about to lose."

"At least you're still alive," Kallus said firmly as he got the graze properly patched up. "I knew he'd- planned to go after you to spite me...to break the spirits of your comrades. If he'd- if you'd...because of _me_ -" he started, but found himself unable to finish once again – unable to say the words.

"Hey, it's okay," Zeb soothed him as he took his hand, drawing it up from fussing over the bacta patch to rest against his beating heart. "I'm still here. We're both here. We're all right."

"I- I'm being ridiculous. I know," he exhaled on a stilted breath, only managing to still his suddenly shaking fingers as they absorbed the living warmth from Zeb's body. "For all you knew, I- I _was_ dead. The mere _thought_ of your death can hardly compare, I know. I just-"

"Shh," Zeb shushed him, pulling him into his arms and cradling him close against his chest. "We've both had a scare. Nothin' ridiculous about reactin' to it. We'll get through, yeah?"

"Of course," the ex-agent said, leaning into the embrace as fiercely as he was able. "Of course we'll get through."

There was no telling how long they remained like that, curled up in each other, each taking the other in after so many years of not truly being with one another. Kallus also wasn't completely certain when they started kissing again, the transition between cuddling and kissing happening so naturally, it hardly seemed one had ever existed without the other. Kallus didn't really become aware of the position they were in until he found himself with the tip of the Lasat's ear in his mouth, straddling the larger man's hips as the former guardsman mouthed at the juncture of his neck and shoulder.

"Ungh... _Alex_ ," the Lasat groaned softly, his grip on the human's sides briefly tightening when he flicked his tongue over the sensitive appendage, his voice containing both a question and a plea.

 _Is this what you want? Because if it's not, you need to have mercy on me._

And nowhere was that more apparent than in the press of Zeb's body up against his, in the strain of his own body against what remained of his straight-laced Imperial uniform. There was nothing he wanted more. He was _free_. He was free and he was with Zeb. Things weren't perfect, far from it, but in many ways, this really was the best moment of his life. Soulmark or no, the call of his spirit had been answered.

"Yes," he returned with a smile, answering both the call and the question. "Heh...Alex. That's my name...isn't it."

"Aw, c'mere, you," Zeb half-scolded as he pulled him down into a new kiss. They lingered over this latest press of lips for several moments before Zeb slowly lowered Alex down onto his bunk. Rather than rush into things, though, the Lasat took the time to just kiss him. He began with the scars on his chest, trailing kisses over each jagged line until he came to the scars on his right arm, repeating the process tenderly with every ugly mark.

Alex sighed in pleasure as his lover attended to every scarred, broken bit of him. Zeb's next task took him to the former agent's left forearm, taking the time to cradle the damaged limb in gentle hands before beginning to kiss the same path all over again. He laid his lips against every inch of scar tissue, including the ugliest of the scars – the stretch of bare skin that had once been filled with angry, beautiful words. Alex couldn't fully help the tears that began to burn behind his eyes at the pure adoration in each one of Zeb's movements.

The Lasat's next destination was his hip, beginning the same pathway of kisses along the scars as he undid Alex's belt. Alex gasped quietly as he started to work the dark fabric down his legs.

"Anythin' wrong?" Zeb asked, glancing up from his task at the tiny sound.

Alex shook his head fervently, hands briefly caressing his partner's face. "Nothing at all. Don't stop."

Zeb nodded, kissing the palm of Alex's hand before continuing down, kissing that same heady trail along the scars that adorned his leg. In this fashion, it didn't take him all that long to completely divest the ex-Imperial of the last of his clothing.

When the Imperial garb was finally cast aside for good, Alex reached forward with eager if clumsy hands to help Zeb with his own belt. Zeb chuckled quietly, leaving him to the task as he reached back to remove the armor from his legs. Then they were slipping the last of the battle suit from his body and it was finally just them, naked on Zeb's little bunk with no more barriers between them. For several minutes, it was a bit of an awkward proposition, attempting to move together in the confined space, and when Alex ended up pressed against the back wall of the little bunk with Zeb reaching a foot up to grip the edge of the upper bunk in an effort to keep them from falling off, Alex found himself laughing.

"And here I thought my quarters on the _Law Bringer_ were sparse," he joked, unable to stop chuckling as he pressed a kiss to Zeb's chest.

"Laugh it up, bright eyes," Zeb fired back with a grin. "But you'd better get used to it. You're in the Alliance now. Kinda have to make do a lot of the time. Suppose you did a _lot_ of entertainin' on that Star Destroyer a' yours."

"Not a bit of it. I'm not exactly the social sort. What about you? Wild marauding life like yours. There must surely be broken hearts."

"Makes me sound like a kriffin' pirate, that does," Zeb snarked, and though he laughed, there was a bit of a roll to his eyes.

"Well, technically-"

"Yeah, no. Gonna stop you right there. Besides, there's usually young ears present. Gotta seize the moment while we can," Zeb reminded him with a heated smirk, twitching a hand forward to run it along Alex's hip. Immediately, the desire returned to the moment, their lips locking together as they ground their hips against one another.

With every motion, they began to learn the movements of each others' bodies. Alex learned some of the many ways Zeb could wrap his legs around him. He learned the feel of Zeb's velvet-fine fur against his own sweat-slicked skin. He learned the subtle motions of the Lasat's strong hips as they thrust clumsily against each other, each still being careful of the other's injuries.

In turn, he gave his partner the differing tastes of the sweat behind his ears and on his chest. He taught him the exact strength of the grip he preferred. And he gave him the simple feel of his own human cock against his larger, ribbed prick. Somehow, he couldn't imagine he compared very memorably to other lovers the Lasat had had, but he also didn't think it mattered so much. Mark or no, bond or no, Garazeb Orrelios had still chosen him, and he knew that now.

At some point during everything, in the awkward fumble of their hands against one another, the fingers of his left hand came to be intertwined with the four fingers of Zeb's right hand. And as they moved together, Alex held tightly to that strong grip, feeling the pulse in his partner's wrist, the insistent thrum of _life_ beneath his skin.

 _How would I have survived...if I had lost this?_

"Zeb...ha- hngh... _Zeb,_ " he cried out helplessly, his tiny cries fast losing coherency as their pace became all the more intense and frantic. They were coming close now...so close...

Zeb had fallen off into incoherent Lasana, but Alex would occasionally catch the strains of the one phrase he now knew for certain.

" _La...ash- kerr...L'ashkerrir an._ "

 _I love you._

"Love you...love you..." he returned as best he could through his haze of mounting pleasure. " _Stars-_ I love you."

He wasn't prepared for his climax when it came. It was a full body moment of complete bliss, but he was just so worn out from the day's events, all he could manage to do was throw his head back against the wall of Zeb's bunk, his mouth falling open in a silent scream as his grip on the Lasat's hand tightened.

But by the time his release had left him wrung out, Zeb had actually stopped moving, cock still hard and looking painfully full.

"No," Alex pleaded with him. "Don't stop."

"But- you're finished," he tried to argue.

"And you're not," he argued right back, trying to take hold of the Lasat's cock. "Please, Zeb... _come._ I _need_ to see you come."

Nodding, Zeb gave a few more weak thrusts before finally spilling between them. Combined with the tiny whimper from his large mouth, the slick feeling of his seed pulsing against his thighs drew a fresh cry from Alex, causing him to curl tightly against the Lasat warrior. He couldn't say how long they remained like that, just clinging together and breathing raggedly as they both remembered how to draw breath separately, but however long it was, he could say with total certainty that it was the happiest and the safest he'd ever felt. Unfortunately, that moment was disturbed when he attempted to shift against Zeb, feeling the protests of his injured body as if through the dulling haze of a painkiller that had worn off.

"I don't believe my ribs will be thanking me in the morning," he said with a wince.

"Did I hurt you?" Zeb asked, a flicker of worry showing in his luminous eyes.

"No more than I was already hurt. I probably just pushed myself a little too soon, and that's my own fault. So you can wipe that guilty look right off your face. The galaxy does not revolve around you, Garazeb Orrelios," he scolded.

 _Though you could've fooled me._

"No, you're right," Zeb agreed, lifting his chin to press a light kiss to his lips. "It revolves around _you_."

The ex-Imperial gave a small, pained laugh at that one, but he couldn't exactly call the former guardsman on it, as his own thoughts had been only too similar just a moment before.

"As you will, my love, but I imagine there are a great many who would feel differently," he said, cuddling himself securely against his soulmate's chest.

"Kriff 'em, then. Blasphemers, every last one of 'em," Zeb said, kissing the top of his head as he ran his clawed fingers through his hair.

Again, Alex laughed quietly, his gaze drifting down the length of their clumsily aligned bodies until he came to his own left arm, once again reminded of the wrongness of it as his eyes sought out what wasn't there.

 _Thrawn had no right. He had no right at_ _ **all.**_ _Zeb...I promise you...I_ _ **am**_ _going to find a way to bring you color again. I_ _ **am**_ _...no matter what it takes,_ he vowed silently to himself, and as his thoughts chased each other through his head, he lay there, taking in the sound and feel of the Lasat's breathing – the rise and fall of it, the surety and fullness of it.

"How long have we got, do you think?" he found himself asking, fingers trailing lazy patterns through the larger male's soft fur.

"Not sure. First meet up point happened a little bit ago when we were busy gettin' each other off," Zeb said with a chuckle. "Who could say if we did any crew swappin' then? If you're worried about them catchin' us with our pants down, though, don't. I did tell Kanan to warn Ezra to stay away. They know not to bother us unless it's an emergency. Maybe we should try and catch a little sleep."

"That's more what I was thinking," Alex said with a nod, feeling sleep clawing at his exhausted mind. "We've been through a lot today, you and I."

"Cheers. Don't worry. You're safe here. You can sleep. Even if there was anything to be scared of, you've got me. I'll keep you safe," Zeb promised.

"I don't doubt it," Alex said, yawning as he nuzzled his cheek against Zeb's chest. "You will get no less from me."

"I know it. Sleep, Alex. I promise I'll wake you if anythin' happens."

"Will...will you be here...when I wake?" he found he couldn't help but ask, even as his eyes tried to blink back sleep. Somehow, he wouldn't put it past the galaxy to keep this moment of perfection as a perfect nightmare for him – to experience it in all its beauty, only to wake and find himself still a prisoner of the Empire...or worse. To wake and find that he'd escaped...but that Zeb had perished while fighting Thrawn...fighting for _him._

"I'll be here...so long as _you're_ here. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news, but you're stuck with me, Alex," Zeb teased mildly, pressing twin kisses to his amber eyes as they flickered closed. "I'll never leave your side."

" _Never,_ " Alex whispered in his last moments of consciousness, breathing in the scent and heat of his lover to take with him into dreams. He would need them to prove his new reality to himself when he woke.

When all of this had begun,a large part of his heart hadn't truly believed he could ever come to this moment. He would do his best, give his last full measure of devotion for the Alliance and for Zeb in an effort to make up for his past. But despite his own dreams of the future, he had always expected this to be an endeavor that claimed his life. Now? Now he would have the chance to create the connection he'd always dreamed of, even after he'd given his soul bond up for lost all those years ago.

In spite of all the times he'd given up, all of the mistakes he'd made, Garazeb Orrelios had still seen fit to come into his life and change everything. He knew he didn't deserve it, but it had been Zeb's choice to save him nonetheless. So he would have to do everything in his power to honor that choice.

After all, they were more than just soulmates. They were partners, and he knew they would be there for each other until the very end.

XxX

(A/N) So I'd initially planned to carry this story into season four, but it was long enough as it was, and when I started to work on this last scene it began to feel like more of an ending. So, for the moment, this story is done, but maybe I'll play around in this AU a bit more someday. I certainly had fun with it and I hope you did, too. :)


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